


those hardest to love (need it most)

by fangedangel (clockworkqueen)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ALL CAPS, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Counselor Sam Wilson, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marvel Universe, Massage, Multi, Pining, Revenge, Sam POV, Sam-Centric, Sam/Steve/Bucky - Freeform, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Stucky - Freeform, Veterans, eventual OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkqueen/pseuds/fangedangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam said he'd follow Steve, he'd meant it. The two of them chased Bucky Barnes halfway across the States, taking HYDRA bases along the way. But it wasn't until Steve left, did Bucky make his presence known. </p><p>Or: Sam is more than happy to help heal the Winter Soldier. In fact, Bucky might be filling a hole in his life that he didn't know needed filling. Those who fly are always destined to fall, but he can't, not for Bucky. Especially when he may have feelings for Steve...</p><p>Or: Bucky doesn't know who he is anymore. But Sam says he doesn't have to know. Bucky likes Sam. </p><p>Or: Steve misses D.C. and Sam like hell. He knows Bucky will come in from the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I've been working on this for a few weeks now because I wanted to have at least 10K or so written so I would commit..aha. I absolutely adore Sam/Steve/Bucky and while I was nervous, I am also very happy to be throwing my hat in the ring. I hope you enjoy and leave me some feedback! :)

After the Air Force, Sam had always thought that his life would return to normalcy, one in which he would know what to expect out of each new day.

He would do work he enjoyed, at the VA office that helped him so much when he had returned to civilian life. Sam loved his job, and considered it a blessing that he could say that. He would continue to work through his own issues, because no matter how long it's been since a soldier has served, it takes some time for the nightmares to truly go away. As a counselor, he knew that better than anyone.

Sam even hoped he would meet someone sometime soon. An interesting, fun person that he could marry and buy a bigger house, with the white picket fence and all. Maybe they could get a pool in the back, for their 2.5 kids or whatever.

But Sam kept going on dates, and kept coming home disappointed. There wasn't anything wrong with the people themselves, he was sure they were wonderful. Most people he went out with even seemed to want a second date. It was like there was something missing, missing from _him_.

Regardless of that weird feeling, Sam certainly was surprised when Captain fucking America and his attractive redheaded spy friend showed up on his porch needing a place to stay. And he was definitely surprised that as they made plans around his kitchen table to take down a decades old Nazi group, that this was the most…engaged he'd felt since he'd gotten home.

Maybe he just missed his wings.

*  
Being able to fly again, was like waking up.

Sure, every time he dived down toward the ground he thought about Riley’s screams, but it was easy to push those thoughts away. They had to save the goddamn world after all. Him and Steve (and Natasha) made a good team. They had each others back, and maybe this was what Sam had felt was missing from his life. A mission.

All of a sudden, he had one. And this was a mission that if they failed would cost millions of people their lives. The stakes were high, and the only thing standing in the way was one Steve Rogers and his friendship with the Winter Soldier.

Sam understood how hard it would be to take out your best friend, your brother. If it was Riley…

But when the Soldier ripped the wings off of Sam’s pack, he got pissed. He needed those to save Steve next time his dumbass went flying through the sky, expecting someone to rescue him since he couldn't be bothered to add a parachute to his uniform. Sam was sure they made them in red, white and blue.

Even though he was virtually benched from helping aerially, Steve still went after the Soldier, on the quinjet, alone. Sam covered the ground, where Steve needed him to be. But what they needed from the Soldier was a show of faith. Steve would probably die before killing him, so they needed a show of faith.

And when the jet went down, Sam thought the worst. But Steve was fine. He needed a couple days (probably less) in the hospital to get him patched up. Because The Wint - Bucky, had saved his life.

And that was a show of faith if Sam had ever seen one.

*

After the battle, Sam offered to help Steve look for Bucky. Steve seemed surprised, but almost relieved to have a companion go along with him. When Sam had said that he did what Steve did, he’d meant it.

Sometimes, Sam worried about Steve. Waking up seventy years after thinking you were killing yourself to save the world… Bucky Barnes wasn't the only supersoldier that needed a shrink. Everyone he’d known is dead, and that's why Steve was chasing Bucky like his sanity depended on it. Because it did.

So that’s how Sam found himself drinking cheap coffee in a even cheaper motel that lacked insulation with an ancient superhero, introducing him to wonders of Netflix.

When they weren't blowing up Nazi’s, this is what they did. Sam would talk for hours about some arbitrary thing of the twenty-first century that Steve hadn't been around for. Steve would listen attentively, eyes never leaving Sam’s face, sometimes even taking notes in that little notebook he carried around.

Right now, they were watching Grey’s Anatomy, which Steve was totally into, even if he wouldn’t admit it. They’d been in this same motel for nearly a week now, doing recon on a HYDRA base located in the mountains of Washington state. The whole potential rock climbing thing was making the operation a little difficult.

Sam snorted at the image of the doctors pulling a bullet out of someone's abdomen. “They should try doing that in Afghanistan. Without local anesthetic.”

Steve looked over at him. “We're you the one pulling the bullets out or the one getting shot?”

“Usually the one pulling bullets out. Sometimes with my bare hands. They took the term ‘flight surgeon’ very literally once I got the wings. Pulling guys out and patching them up.” Sam grinned. “Whenever I got hit, I pulled the bullet out myself.”

“Wow. That’s amazing,” Steve said, actually looking awed.

“Okay, _Captain_ _America_.”

Steve looked as though he was going to argue, when his S.H.I.E.L.D issued phone went off. He darted across the room after it, because that phone only rang if there was danger, or if it was Natasha. Neither one of those options were allowed to go unanswered.

Sam half listened to Steve’s conversation, and half watched Meredith Grey make out with McDreamy. It sounded as though Natasha had called, but danger had decided to tag along.

Steve hung up the phone, and turned to Sam. “Something's happening in New York. No aliens or robots this time, just some crazies keeping a building hostage.”

“Just? Crazies? You mean terrorists, right?”

Steve barely acknowledged Sam’s comment as he shoved his clothes into his duffle. “You know I’m coming right?”

That’s when Steve looked up. “You can’t.”

“Why the hell not?” Sam asked.

“Someone's gotta be on the lookout for Bucky. He might resurface while I’m distracted,” Steve said.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Does Bucky need me more than all those hostages?”

Steve froze, his frame hard against the flowered wall paper of the room. He quickly changed the subject. “There’s the HYDRA base...we’ve been doing recon for almost a week.”

“And you want me to take it alone? Unlike you Steve, I don’t go around looking for people to fuck my shit up.”

That made Steve crack a smile, diffusing some of the tension in the room. “You’re right, I’m sorry. That wasn't very considerate of me.”

Sam took a breath. “I mean the plan’s just to gather Intel and set the place aflame right? I think, I think I can handle that on my own.”

“Are you sure, Sam? If you get yourself killed because I wasn't there to watch your six…” Steve’s brow is furrowed in worry, even though he was the one to suggest this idea in the first place.

He wasn't going to let down Captain America. Sam’s ten year old self would never forgive him. But even more than that, Sam wasn't going to let down Steve Rogers. That was one thing he’d learned these past few weeks, sharing a space with him. Cap was great, but Steve was the one that Sam was going to follow.

“Hey, don't worry about me. I can join you in New York after if you want,” Sam said, helping Steve gather his things.

“No. New York’s not...the same for me anymore. As soon as I’m done I’ll be back in D.C., if you’ll have me of course.” He shifted uncomfortably, remembering that he was now homeless after the whole fake assassination of Fury in his apartment.

“Obviously. You still haven't made me those pancakes you claim are better than mine.”

Steve laughed. “Ok, maybe that was a bit of a lie. We did boil everything.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Even the pancakes?”

“I hope to god not.”

They laughed, trying to mask this goodbye with humor. It wasn't a goodbye, not really. Sam would see Steve back in D.C. If he didn't get killed. Or vice versa. Steve wasn't immortal.

Steve picked up his duffle, and walked toward Sam’s side of the room. “You’re gonna be careful, right Falcon?”

Sam accepted his hug. “You’re not gonna get yourself killed, right Cap?”

Steve laughed. “I’m gonna miss this,” he said as he walked out the motel door with a wave.

“Me too,” Sam said to an empty room. And he was. Watching Steve learn the lyrics to modern pop songs, and catching him singing them later in the shower. Listening to Steve talk about disastrous double dates with Bucky back in the day, when none of the dames were interested in him. Sam told Steve about some of his dates gone wrong, and Steve couldn't stop laughing.

Eating Chinese takeout and watching stupid TV. Driving with the windows down across the country, stopping the bad guys. Sam hadn't had this much fun with anyone since Riley. This wasn't much different actually. He was fighting a war with Steve, just like he did with Riley.

And you know how that ended.

Sam shoved that thought to the back of his mind, and prepared to kick some Nazi ass.

*

As a bullet whirred past Sam’s head, he realized that maybe this hadn't been his best idea of yet. 

He’d gotten in, just as planned. Through the air vents, which were very narrow, straight into an empty computer lab. He shoved the S.H.I.E.L.D drive into their computer, and managed to copy the files without any alarms going off. 

However, the alarm did go off when a HYDRA tech walked in, and pressed his emergency button before Sam could shoot him in the head. 

So now, Sam was running, for his life. Something in his stomach knew this wasn't going to end well. He looked behind him, and regretted it soon after, because there were ten Nazi’s on his heels and Sam was nervous. He was prepared to take himself out before HYDRA got his hands on him, but the idea of that made him feel lightheaded. Sam turned a corner quickly, and was pulled into a room before he could squeak. 

“Stay quiet.” A voice came from behind him. He wasn't sure who the hell had him captive in this very small closet, but it was way better than the boots of the HYDRA agents outside, chasing after an intruder that was no longer there. Apparently, Sam wasn't the only one gracing HYDRA’s doorstep today. 

Activity continued to carry on outside, so Sam obeyed, and the grip on his face relaxed. Sam turned a bit, and was met with the smirking face and shiny metal arm of the Winter Soldier. 

“I’m guessing you’re not gonna kill me?” Sam whispered. 

“Would've happened already.” Bucky Barnes said. 

Sam snorted. “Then I suppose you're here for the same reason as me?”

“To blow this place up? Yes. But I’m mostly here to save your dumb ass.” Barnes said. 

Sam didn't really understand what he meant, but Bucky gestured for him to shut up, so Sam resolved to ask later. 

“So here’s what we're gonna do.” Barnes said. 

They compared the amount of ammo Sam had to Bucky’s, and then compared explosives. Bucky grinned when he saw Sam's lot. “I think we could be good friends, Sam.” 

They busted out of the closet at the same time, taking out everyone in the hall before making a break for the doors, dropping rigged explosives as they ran. 

Bucky was grinning and grinning, different from the smile he wore in the pictures in the Smithsonian. Honestly, Sam may have smiled a bit too, because there was something beautiful about watching HYDRA’s strongest weapon destroy its creators. 

Bullet after bullet went into Sam's opponents, and he couldn't find it in himself too feel one bit of remorse. He thought about that picture of Bucky in cryofreeze, and shot one straight between the eyes. 

“Nice shot, Sammy.” Barnes turned that manic grin on him, and Sam had to blink with the brightness of it. Sammy. “Now let's get out of here.” 

They busted through the doors, and Bucky pulled out the trigger that would make the whole building blow. “I’ll let you do the honors,” he said, passing Sam the button. 

The picture of Bucky’s frozen face flashed through Sam’s mind again, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. And pressed the button. 

He turned away as the building blew. But Bucky didn't. He watched as each bomb exploded with dead eyes, his grin gone. Bucky wasn't a weapon anymore, and killing, even killing for the greater good wasn't something to smile about. 

Sam let his body sag into the ground, finally feeling the weight of his injuries now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He hadn't been shot, thankfully, but he had a couple knife injuries and probably a sprained wrist from when a Nazi had tried to pull his gun out of his hand. 

“Hey, hey. You alright?” Bucky turned toward him, looking mostly okay. There was some bruising on his face, but any other injuries weren't visible through his outfit. 

“Yeah. Just the adrenaline.” Bucky walked toward him anyway, grabbing something out of his bag. 

“You’re wrist is sprained,” Bucky said, taking Sam’s wrist before he could protest. He started wrapping it in gauze. 

“You’re bedside manner is impeccable.” Sam said dryly. Bucky smirked.

As Bucky worked, Sam decided it was time to start asking questions. “Earlier, you said you were here to save me...what the heck were you talking about?”

“I’ve been following you and Steve for a few weeks now.” Sam flinched with the mention of Steve. How many hours had it been? Sam needed to check the news. 

“We’ve been following you.” Sam said.

“That’s what I let you think. I left clues here and there. I thought it would let you know that I was okay, and to leave me alone, but instead you idiots did the opposite. You started following me.” Bucky eyed his work on Sam’s wrist, and backed away a few feet. 

“Steve was worried. The last time I saw you, you kicked me out of the sky,” Sam said. 

Something like pain crossed Bucky’s face. “I know. And I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about your wings.”

Sam waved him off, wincing as he moved his injured wrist. “I don't hold it against you. You weren't yourself then.”

“I know. I know. That’s why I’ve been staying away. I didn't want to hurt anyone.” Bucky squeezed the fingers of his metal hand into a fist. 

“You more than proved yourself today. Come back to D.C. with me. We’ll meet up with Steve and go after HYDRA together.”

“Don’t even get me started on Steve. I saw him leave your motel room, and then I saw you leave. I knew you were headed here. You’re not like Steve. You're not even like me. I can't believe he would send you in there alone.” Something like anger took over Bucky’s body movements, as he strategically pulled all the grass up from the ground in the area that he sat.

“You don't think I know that?” Sam was angry too. “You don't think I’m not reminded everyday how normal I am? That I’m not a superhero. Or a god. Or a super spy or a billionaire in a suit of armor. I know. Every time I bruise a rib or get stabbed, I know. Without my wings, I’m just a normal guy. So don't act like you know me, Barnes.”

Bucky looked surprised, and maybe a little hurt. “I - Sam that’s not what I - “

“It’s fine,” Sam cut him off. “Now let’s get out of here before the feds show up.”

He nodded, but stared at Sam’s face for a moment longer and Sam was finally able to get a good look at him. 

He looked much better than the last time he’d seen him. Bucky’s skin wasn't quite so pale, he looked healthier, as though he’d been spending time outside. There were still dark circles under his eyes though, eyes that were almost inhumanly blue. His hair was still long, perhaps in need of a wash, held back by a piece of rope or something. 

Bucky looked away quickly, packing his stuff. 

“We’ll head back to the hotel and get cleaned up for the drive back, is that cool?” Sam asked, thinking it better to let Bucky know his plans so he wouldn't be surprised later. 

But to Sam’s surprise, Bucky shook his head. “No. I have some more stuff to take care of, and I work alone.”

Sam scoffed. “Are you really gonna say you didn't have fun back there?” He points to the smoking building of psychopaths behind him. 

“Other stuff.” He said simply in reply, though the corner of his lip attempted to turn up in some semblance of a smile. “And you need to get back to D.C.”

He sighed, not really in the mood to get into an argument with an assassin. His stab wounds were just starting to sting, and that wasn't great. “Steve’s gonna kill me,” Sam said. “But I’m going to assume you know where I live.”

Bucky nodded, and Sam tried not to feel creeped out. 

“Good. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.” Sam clasped Bucky’s right shoulder, touching him for the first time of the day. He tensed, but didn't shake him off, so Sam held tight. “Please find me. Or Steve.”

“Ok.” Bucky managed, before maneuvering away from Sam and grabbing his duffle. “I’d take care of those stab wounds if I were you.” Bucky yelled over his shoulder. 

Sam gave him the finger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a fully trained assassin waiting for Sam when he gets home from work. Sam doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! Here's chapter two! Please enjoy! :)

The whole drive back to D.C., Sam’s hands shook. Yes, that is bad for driving, but he couldn't stop, he couldn't stop. His mind kept flashing back to the HYDRA base, even as he put miles and miles into the car to get away from it. 

Before Bucky had saved his life, HYDRA had nearly gotten him. They were right on his heels, there were so many of them and just one of him…

Sam almost died today. Whether one of their bullets had caught him, or if Sam would've had to take care of himself, he almost died. 

And he would’ve. Killed himself. He would've put a bullet in his brain before he let those bastards play with it. Sam shook with anger this time, thinking of what they did to Bucky. What they could've did to him, today. Thank god for Bucky. Bucky.

He starts to think about Bucky then, but the anger became all consuming, and the fear, the fear was too much because, he almost died today. 

Sam pulls over then, and dials Steve’s number before he could think twice. “Steve.”

“Sam. Sam, are you alright?”

He’s not sure if it was his ragged breathing or the pitch of his voice that gave it away, but when he heard Steve’s voice, he started to silently cry.

*  
Sam comes home every day from the VA, expecting to see a sarcastic super spy sitting on his sofa, but weeks pass, and he doesn’t. He talks to Steve every couple of days on the phone. After Sam’s panic attack weeks ago on the side of the freeway, Sam managed to tell him about how Bucky saved his life. 

He remembers how Steve’s breath caught in his throat, the surprise of hearing about Bucky after listening to Sam break down, a million miles away. 

Sam thinks Steve was a little hurt too, how Bucky had watched them for weeks, but only came out when Steve left. Sam thinks he may have been hurt too, if Riley had pulled the same shit. 

As expected, Steve didn't come back from New York. The only time Sam saw him was on the news, and he started watching less and less of that. Every time he saw Steve perched on some pedestal dressed uncomfortably in a suit, Sam wanted to laugh or throw something because this wasn't supposed to be how his story ended, how their story ended? He was supposed to be there, fighting evil with him. 

Especially when he suspected that the only reason Steve stayed away was because he felt guilty. Guilt about leaving him to fight HYDRA alone, guilty for leaving him to deal with Bucky. perhaps he was even guilty about speaking to him on that run, all those months ago. 

But Sam wasn't upset, not anymore. He was over almost dying. That’s what soldiers do, they get over it when in battle. He wasn't in battle, not any more. But he was increasingly aware of the handgun he kept in the glove compartment of his car, because what if HYDRA wanted to finish him off? What if they wanted to fuck around in his head, just like they did to Bucky. Maybe they’d give him metal wings, attached to his spinal cord so he can’t take them out. Maybe he was in battle. 

But one Tuesday, there’s someone sitting on his porch when he comes home from work. It was a long day, one of his vets had killed themselves, pills. There wasn't enough caffeine in the world to get through the talk with the family, and Sam wondered, would his family have ever found out if he offed himself in a HYDRA cell?

He’s so tired that at first, Sam thinks the glint of metal attached Bucky was a trick of the light, but then it all comes back to him. 

There’s a wanted, part metal fugitive assassin on Sam’s porch, and all he could think was how long has it been since the bastard had eaten? 

He looked worse off than when Sam had last seen him. Skinner for sure, and tired. Of fighting or of living, Sam wasn't sure. Bucky was holding his flesh arm to his chest with the help of his metal one. 

Bucky drops a concealed gun at Sam’s feet, without being prompted. Sam simply picks it up, and slides it in his belt, a motion ingrained in him from the military. He unlocks the door to his home, kind of surprised Bucky didn't just pick it himself, or just break the fucking door down. He hasn't met Sam’s eyes once, and he wants to know what caused the change in demeanor. 

He gestures to his sofa, and walks into the kitchen, wondering what he could feed this super soldier that was obviously starving himself. But when he ducks his head from around the fridge, he sees Bucky standing in front of the sofa, a blank look on his face. 

“Hey… what’s wrong?”

Bucky speaks for the first time today, his voice coming out raspy. “I’m bleeding - I shouldn't sit.”

“Man, it’s fine.” Sam rushes to the linen closet and grabs a couple towels, laying them out on the sofa. He guides Bucky’s shaking figure down on to it. “Look, I’m gonna patch you up. You’re arm looks like it needs to be set. I was pararescue, I can handle it. Is that ok?”

Bucky nods. 

“Great. If the pains not too bad, I’m gonna see what I can find for you too eat first. You look like your starving. Any requests from the kitchen?” 

“We can order pizza or Chinese, and I’ve got stuff to cook?”

“Cook? Like…you’re gonna cook for me?” Bucky’s eyes widened. 

Damn. The guy probably hadn't had a home cooked meal since 1942. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, because if Bucky wasn't crying about this, then Sam wouldn't either. 

“Yeah. I’ve got stuff for some casseroles, I can make a chicken, lasagna, turkey burgers…”

“Lasagna?” Bucky says, more like a question than an answer. Sam’s heart clenches, but he hides it behind a mask he perfected in the military. Bucky wasn't the only solider in the room.

“Lasagna it is.”

Sam cooks and warily lets Bucky cut vegetables with his left hand after he offers and stopped bleeding. He cuts them perfectly even and that makes Sam a little nauseous, wondering what else they'd forced him to cut up in tiny little pieces. 

The dish is placed in the oven, and Sam heads to the closet to grab his medical bag. Bucky sits back a top the towels, suddenly drained. 

“Bucky, I want to help you. But I’m going to need you to trust me ok? I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

He meets Sam’s eyes warily, but the blue there is perfectly clear. “Keep the gun close. In case…I get confused.”

“Will that make you comfortable?” It really doesn't make Sam feel comfortable. He feels like HYDRA, patching him up, with a fail safe nearby incase something goes wrong. 

But Bucky nods. 

“Okay,” Sam exhales. “I’m not going to need it, but okay.”

He gathers tools from his bag, gauze, antiseptic, bandages. He puts the gun on the coffee table behind him, out of Bucky’s reach but close enough for him to reach it, if need be. “I’m going to need you to take off your shirt.”

Bucky smirks, a glimmer of that day in the mountains returning. “Samuel Wilson. I’m not sure what kinda gal you think I am, but you’re gonna need to take me to dinner first,” he drawls, some of that old Brooklyn coming back to him. 

Sam chuckles, despite the potential severity of the situation. “It’s in the oven. Now, shirt off.”

Bucky complies, but he moves slowly. Every inch of skin revealed was covered in bruises. They were in every shade of healing, black and purple; fresh. Yellow and sickly green; old. His ribs had to be broken - a few of them. There was a deep knife wound on his left side under his fourth rib, and Sam prayed it wasn't infected. His metal arm glints in the soft light of the living room, strangely beautiful; the only part of him unharmed. 

“Sam -“

“Bucky, so help me god if you ask me if I like what I see…” 

He snorts, but his face looses any trace of laughter when he flinches, bringing a hand to his abdomen before he can catch himself. “I’m fine,” he manages, voice tight. “I just need to be patched up, and then the serum will do its work…”

Sam closed his eyes. “You aren't fine. I don’t know how much I can do here, man. You need to see a doctor, a real medical -“

“No!” Bucky exclaims, rearing forward to grab Sam’s arm with his right hand, never his left. “No doctors, please no doctors, please.” 

Sam remembers what Steve told him. Those people torturing Bucky were doctors, some of them. People who swore under oath to help others hurt him, tortured him, raped his mind. “What makes you trust me?” He asks, honestly curious. 

“Steve does,” Bucky says simply. “I don’t remember everything about Steve but I remember he was the most stand up guy in town. He trusts you, so I do, too.”

Sam smiled softly. “I’m glad. So here’s what I’m going to do…”

Sam made sure to explicitly tell Bucky exactly what he was doing to his body as he patched him up. He set the dislocated shoulder first, knowing it was probably causing quite a bit of discomfort. He told him it was going to hurt, like hell, but Bucky took it in stride, biting down on Sam’s throw pillow like it was a practiced motion.

He didn't scream or cry, kept silent as Sam pulled his shoulder into place. He cleaned Bucky’s abdomen, the deep cut on the side needed stitches, which Sam could do. He didn't scream then either, just a minute flinch as the needle pierced skin, in and out, in and out. There wasn't much Sam could do about the ribs or the bruises. Bucky’s body needed time to knit itself together, and the serum would do its job now that he was able to rest. 

Sam directs Bucky to his shower, telling him to wash before he put the bandages on. While he’s in the shower, Sam’s hands start to shake. He’s scared, but not for himself. He doesn't think about the gun on the table, or the one in his car. He doesn’t. 

He regains his calm expression when Bucky comes out, looking like a drowned rat, though thankfully, a clean one. He’s wearing Sam’s plaid pajama pants, and Sam almost wants to laugh at how domestic this is, dinner in the oven and all. But then he sees the wounds on Bucky’s bare chest and the laugh dies in his throat, with the realization that Bucky probably wouldn't get the joke. 

Bucky doesn't speak as Sam wraps gauze around his abdomen, hoping it would help his body heal faster. Sam helps him into his shirt, even though Bucky makes a face at the assistance. His wince when his right arm goes up meant Sam’s instincts were correct. 

Dinners done by now. Sam sets the lasagna on the counter and pulls out plates and beers. He gets a healthy portion out for himself, and a larger portion for Bucky, because who knows how long its been since he’s eaten. 

Dinner is a silent affair, though Bucky’s almost moans of appreciation into his plate signifies that he’s enjoying the meal. He goes back for seconds, and Sam watches him eat, spending extra time on his own meal. 

When Bucky comes up for air, he gives Sam his awkward almost smile. “Thanks Sam. For fixing me up, and feeding me. It was real good.”

When Sam smiles back, its genuine. “You’re welcome. Anytime, honestly.”

Sam does the dishes and refuses Bucky’s help. “Godammit I set your arm a half hour ago. Sit down.”

They watch TV for a couple hours, though Sam stays away from the news. He doesn't want to see what’s going on in New York, doesn't want to make Bucky anxious. Sam yawns, and Bucky starts to get up. “Hey thanks for everything, I’ll get out of your hair now,” Bucky says.

Sam’s eyes blink open. “What? Are you crazy? You aren't leaving, especially in this weather. I’ve got a spare bedroom with your name on it.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

He laughs. “No, no. But you can put your name on it if you want.”

Sam directs Bucky to the room practically reserved for wayward fugitives of the law. He gets a whispered thanks in response, and Sam doesn't think about the gun on the table in the living room. 

*

They go to bed, but Sam has a nightmare with explosions and fire and Riley falling from the sky, same as usual. He can’t sleep after, also as usual, and gets up to see if Bucky’s still there. He is, but isn’t in his room. Instead, Sam finds him sitting in front of the fridge, eating all the leftover lasagna cold, with the damn fridge still open. 

“Sorry.” he says, but takes another bite anyway. 

“It’s fine. I told you earlier, mi casa su casa or whatever.”

“Why are you awake,” Bucky asks bluntly, his first direct question to Sam this whole time. 

Why are you? Sam wants to ask, but doesn’t. There’s so many things that he wants to ask, but can’t. “Nightmare. It’s usually hard to get back to sleep after,” he shrugged, unashamed to talk about his issues. He’s a counselor at the damn VA for gods sake. Even if he was embarrassed, the amount of issues Bucky had would overshadow any and all embarrassment.

Bucky met his eyes for the first time, and nodded inceptively, so Sam kept talking. 

“I’m a counselor at the VA… but I think you knew that already.” Bucky nodded in between bites.   
Sam continued, once again struggling not to feel immensely creeped out. “I help other veterans get back into civilian society. It’s hard, man. And I know first hand. I think its ridiculous when they have some civilian shrink come in. If you haven't lived it, watched your friends die right in front of your eyes, than you shouldn't be preaching about the 5 steps to recovery.”

He took a breath, not realizing how heated he’d just gotten, sitting in front of his open fridge at 3 in the morning with Americas most wanted eating lasagna out of the goddamn pan. 

“It’s fine.” Bucky echoed his words from earlier. “I like hearing you talk. And I agree with you.” 

“You should come. To a meeting. I have a feeling you already know my work schedule, but I’ll print one out. They’re anonymous, everyone is too deep in their own shit to recognize you from a textbook.” He grinned at Bucky, who managed an odd expression back, like he didn't know how to smile anymore. Sam’s heart was feeling weird again, and he hoped he wasn't have a fucking premature heart attack. 

“You’re a veteran too, Bucky. Of a whole lotta worse shit than any of the guys down at the VA. But you have just as great of a chance at redemption.”

Bucky closed his eyes tightly, the glow from the fridge making his eyelashes stand out individually. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

“Good. Now give me some of that lasagna.”

And when Bucky held out the fork he’d been using up to Sam’s mouth, he almost laughed at the intimacy, but took a bite anyway. He wondered if that’s how his handlers treated him, only letting him eat after they had their share. 

Bucky was right. It was damn good cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me some feedback! Follow me on Tumblr at zoe-tropee or heckyeahwinterpanther! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strangely domestic day with Bucky has Sam waiting for the other shoe to drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter! I hope you're enjoying the day with your family! If they're hella annoying then fanfic is always the answer right? :) Enjoy and leave me some feedback!

Sam woke the next morning to the sound of someone puttering around in his apartment.

Instantly, he was on guard, mind already suppling ways to subdue an intruder, which would most likely be pretty simple, unless they were HYDRA or something…

Oh. HYDRA. Bucky Barnes AKA The Winter Soldier. Was just hanging around in his home. 

Sam relaxed himself, because this was now his life. He got started on his normal morning routine, somewhat thankful that today was a workday so he wouldn't have to make conversation with Bucky all day. He wasn't sure which version of Barnes he’d be greeted with. The manic version from the mountains, the broken - almost defeated version from last night, or the snarky version that keeps peeking through. Sam thinks he likes that version the most. 

When he finally exits his his bedroom, after procrastinating as much as possible, Sam finds Bucky pouring coffee, two cups. 

Sam makes a bit of noise to alert him to his presence. He’s worked with soldiers long enough to know its better safe than sorry. He’ll never forget the time he’d almost attacked his Mom, only a couple weeks out of the desert. He’d left for days afterwards. 

“Morning,” Sam says casually. 

“I wasn't sure how you took your coffee so I just made it black with a little sugar. That’s how I took it before, I think. When we had sugar.” Bucky skips all greetings, and immediately goes into a memory, to Sam’s surprise. 

Sam shrugs. “I’ve never been too picky with my coffee. Especially when someone else makes it for me. Thanks.” He offers him a smile, wondering when Bucky will be able to fully return it. 

Bucky shrugs, mirroring Sam’s previous movement. “I couldn't exactly figure out the whole breakfast thing. I can make cereal though.”

He chuckles. “I don’t usually eat in the mornings anyway. But yeah help yourself to whatever while I’m at work.” Sam begins gathering his things. 

“Seriously? Dr. Wilson doesn't eat his breakfast?” Bucky almost gets teasing correctly.

“I’m no doctor,” Sam snorts. “I’m a non doctor who can’t be bothered.”

“Maybe you’ll have to show me sometime. Cooking. I can almost promise not to burn the place down.” Bucky meets his eyes.

Learning how to do something again could be very therapeutic for him. Or it could go terribly wrong. But Sam’s never been one to back down from a challenge. 

“Sure. Though you know its usually the elderly who teach the young all their best recipes.”

Bucky snorted, and it made Sam’s heart warm to be able to pull amusement out of him. 

Sam looked at his watch. “Shit, I’m really gonna be late. My phone numbers on the fridge.” He frowns. “We should probably look into getting you a phone.”

“I’ve got one.” Bucky pulls out an iPhone that looked newer than Sam’s. “It’s pretty cool.”

“It’s pink.” 

“I stole it from HYDRA. They had like a shit ton of them in box. I just grabbed one before the place blew. I didn't know it would be pink,” Bucky says defensively, putting his pretty pink phone on the kitchen counter with a gentle metal hand. 

“Hey man. I think it suits you,” Sam says, with only a hint of a smile. 

Bucky looks at his phone with a doubtful expression. “If you say so.”

Sam only just manages not to laugh. “Well I’m heading out. Send me a text so I have your number. You’ll be okay today, right?” Sam touches a hand to his shoulder, like the first time they’d touched. 

To his surprise, Bucky didn't shift away from him, but leaned into it, like a kitten being petted. He was probably more than a bit touched starved, what with going 70 years without touch, except for those tinged with pain.  
Sam held his shoulder for a moment longer, still waiting on a reply. 

Bucky shuddered, like it was physically taxing him to speak. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Good.”

Sam took himself out of Bucky’s space slowly, and gathered his stuff, conscious of the gun still on the coffee table as he walked out of the door. 

*****

Sam was distracted all day at work. 

Not with his veterans. Even the after the whole mess with Steve and the hellicarriers hadn't allowed him to lose focus on the others that needed him. 

Steve. Sam was playing host to Bucky, essentially acting as Switzerland for him, keeping him away from any potential conflicts, either with the law or even with Steve. And Steve didn't know. A part of Sam was itching to reach for his phone, partially to inform Steve of this new development, and partially just to shoot the breeze with him. 

Talking about stupid things with Steve relaxed Sam unlike most things these days, and he’d had a pretty high stress 36 hours. More than that, Steve would want to know. He deserved to. But the counselor part of his brain told him that Bucky should be the one to decide. 

The second Sam sat down to work on paperwork, his thoughts went even more off track. He was desperately curious about how Bucky was holding up, and almost as if he knew Sam was thinking about him, his phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number. 

i found these things in your freezer that say they can cook in 90 seconds in a microwave but i don't know what that is? - B.B.

Sam chuckled. The metal box next to the fridge. Open it up and stick one in, and press the number buttons for time. 

OH and take it out of the box!!!!

The dots appeared on iMessage, signifying that Bucky was replying to his text. The reply didn't come immediately and Sam assumed he was struggling with the whole texting thing. 

I’m not an idiot. Heat and paper - no bueno. I’m gonna try the ‘Hot Pockets’. 

Sam snorted. Don’t get your hopes up too high man. I mostly only keep those for my niece when she comes over. Or if I’m really drunk - which doesn't happen much anymore. 

They’re in right now. Ham and cheese. And then, Why not?

It took him a moment to get what Bucky was referring to. Work mostly. I’m getting old, man.

I’m old. Came Bucky’s reply and Sam laughed out loud. 

“What’s so funny?” Sam’s favorite intern peeked her head into his office, a curious smile on her face. 

“Nothing much, Erykah. How’s your day been?”

“Mine’s been great boss.” She pushed a lock of her curly brown hair behind her ear and pushed up her glasses, movements that he’d seen her do dozens of times. “But you've been distracted all day,” she says with a sing song voice. 

Erykah plopped into the chair in front of his desk, putting her Converse on top of it, simply because she knew how much he hated it. “You gotta tell me. You could barely sit through the meeting this morning. New girlfriend?”

Sam shook his head, amused. If she only knew. 

The uppers at the VA (and Erykah) knew about his new ties with Captain America, and possible future ones with the Avengers. They’d given him the time off to recuperate(which was actually used to find Bucky), after seeing the videos of him flying around and fuckin’ shit up. But none of them knew about his tie to Bucky, or the fact that he was basically harboring a fugitive. 

Her eyes widened. “Boyfriend?” 

Sam groaned. 

*

By the time the work day ended, Sam was absolutely ready to crash. Maybe order a pizza for him and Bucky if he ended up really hungry. Honestly, the guy probably had enjoyed enough carbs today with all those Hot Pockets. 

Then again, he was a supersoldier. 

So it took him by complete surprise when he unlocked the door to his home to find Bucky standing over the stove, stirring a pot, humming along to the radio. 

“Hey Sam,” Bucky greeted without turning around. He probably looked perfectly calm to the average onlooker, still dressed in Sam’s plaid pajama pants. But he could see the tenseness in Bucky’s posture, and filed the body language away in his head. 

“Hey Buck. What’s cooking?”

Bucky froze, spoon in mid air. “I think…Steve used to call me that.”

Steve. He hadn't mentioned Steve before. “I think he did. Does,” Sam amended. 

He relaxed minutely. “Good. I was just checking.”

Sam nodded, even though Bucky wasn't looking at him. “I don’t have to call you that—“

“No!” Bucky interrupted. “You can. I like it.” 

“Ok. Alright, Buck.” 

He decided to give Bucky a few moments to recover, and changed out of his work clothes. Sam had been sleepy before, but his brief encounter with Bucky had woken him up just a bit. He reentered the kitchen, and poured a glass of water for him, and one for Bucky as well, who took it gratefully. 

“What happened to me teaching you to cook?” Sam joked, peering around Bucky to look into the pot of spaghetti which frankly, looked delicious. 

To his surprise, Bucky didn't react to the closeness. “I remember stuff, you know.” 

“Oh?” 

“I was looking at the food in your freezer and that triggered some memories.” He almost smiled. “I did all the cooking, Steve - Steve couldn't cook for shit.”

Sam grinned for him. “Tell me about it. Steve almost burned this place down a couple of times.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Steve was here?”

The smile on Sam’s face dimmed a bit. “Yeah. He lived here for awhile after… the Potomac. His apartment was trashed so I was happy to.”

“Oh. Ok. Let me get you a plate.” The mention of the Potomac made his expression darken a bit, but it was corrected with an eery quickness. 

Bucky changed the topic quick enough to make Sam’s head spin. Bucky made a plate of pasta, holding the plate with his metal hand before passing it to Sam. He let go of the plate as soon as Sam held it securely, as if he was afraid to touch him with it. And come to think of it, he hadn’t. Even in the mountains all those weeks ago when he bandaged his wrist, Bucky had held on to the gauze with the metal hand. 

“Thank you so much Bucky,” Sam said. “I was really tired tonight, I appreciate the cooking.” And the food was really good. It tasted just like his grandma would make whenever he’d come to visit. He smiled a bit wistfully at his plate. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Bucky asked without speaking. 

“Just thinking about the past, that’s all.” Sam voiced. “My grandmother used to make her noodles just like this.”

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Bucky looked down at his plate. 

“You didn’t,” he said simply. “Thinking about the past is good, healthy. You should know that better than anyone right now,” Sam pointed out.

“You’re right. What was your grandmother like?”

Sam told him. Of Sunday dinners after church, and family reunions. His grandma was an absolute whiz at math, helped him with his algebra on more than one occasion. She planned all the events, holidays, birthdays. There was a house, in the middle of the woods that she always took him up too for weeks at a time in the summer. Those weeks were the highlight of his year as a kid, he’d play in the lake and watch the birds. 

“I see they had an impact.” 

Yeah, he guessed the had. Birds then, Falcon now. It’s interesting how it all comes full circle. 

She didn't want me to serve. She wanted me to stay home and focus on my education. But I wanted to serve my country and see the world, so I went, he said. “By the time I got home, she’d passed.”

Bucky’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. He’d gotten lost in descriptions of the rocks by the lake and the little robins with red chests. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Me too. I used to wish I’d never joined up, I missed her funeral and everything. But the service was right for me. If I’d stayed home, I’d never had meant Riley and… I can’t regret that.” Bucky didn't know who Riley was, and he didn't ask. Sam was thankful for that. He wasn't sure how much further down memory lane he could go tonight. 

The rest of dinner was eaten in comfortable silence. 

“I think its…good for me to have someone else’s memories,” Bucky said quietly, as they put the dishes in the washer. “Thanks for sharing them with me.”

Before Sam could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed Bucky’s flesh and blood hand. “I think so too. Anytime you wanna ask me something, just ask.” 

Bucky looked almost lost for a moment, the way he always did when he was touched. But he refocused quickly enough. “Thanks, Sam.”

They bid each other goodnight, and Sam decided that Bucky’s stay was going decidedly well. However, there was a small part of him that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

And drop it did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shoe drops. Sam gets a massage for his troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Leave me some feedback please, and do enjoy! :)

Sam woke from a dream where he was falling from the sky, to a reality where a hand was crushing his windpipe. 

“Bucky?” he gasped in surprise, barely able to get the words out. 

Bucky, or perhaps the Winter Soldier was standing above him. His dark hair shadowed his face, his posture was rigid and his eyes were devoid of emotion. 

“Bucky please,” Sam forced out around the hand that thankfully wasn't metal. “Bucky it’s me Sam Wilson, friends with Steve? Your Bucky Barnes and it’s 2014.”

Bucky’s grip on his throat stayed sure. 

“Sam Wilson, pararescue? I told you about my grandma earlier.” His vision was starting to darken at the edges. “I’m your friend, Bucky.”

Bucky faltered, and he seemed to return to himself. Then he realized what his hand was doing. He jumped away from Sam like he'd been stung. 

Sam sucked in deep breaths, using his hand to steady himself on the bed. 

“Oh god.” Bucky whispered. “I—I’m sorry I don’t know what happened, I didn't —-“

Sam held out a hand to stop him. His vision was returning to normal, and he rose his head a bit to speak. 

“Don’t,” Bucky growled. 

Sam froze. 

“That’s gonna bruise. Lemme get something for it? Don’t talk, alright? We don’t wanna make it any worse now?” Bucky said, and backed out of the room quickly. 

He obeyed, a little shocked by the quick turn of events, and rested his head on the cool wall above his headboard, drained. 

Sam must’ve fallen asleep for a moment, because when he opened his eyes again, Bucky was armed with several things. He held a hot cup of tea in his metal hand, before carefully passing it off to Sam. 

“Drink this. It’ll help with the sore throat your gonna have tomorrow.”

His hands shook like they sometimes did when he was stressed, but he managed not to add any first degree burns to his situation. The tea was the perfect temperature, hot enough to soothe but not scalding. It tasted like chamomile, the kind that he’d picked out for Steve to warm him up after he woke from nightmares of ice. There was lemon in there too, which was kind of Bucky. 

After he’d finished half the cup, Bucky took it from him after passing him a painkiller from his medicine cabinet. Sam swallowed without complaint, with a sip of his tea. 

“Good,” Bucky praised, before sitting on the bed beside him. Sam could feel his body heat, hotter than a normal person just like Steve was. He waved a tube of some sort of cream in his face. “Now, I found this in your bathroom. It’s for bruises. I think you should put some on your neck…because it’ll probably bruise.” He muttered another apology under his breath. 

Sam ignored it. He was completely exhausted. The clock beside the bed read 3:38 and his neck was just starting to tingle in pain. Sam nodded in agreement about the cream. He was most likely going to look like a beat up hooker tomorrow anyway.

“Ok. Do you want to put it on, or should I?” Bucky asked tentatively. 

As an answer, Sam kept his eyes shut. After all, he hadn't been given permission to talk. Bucky sighed, and he could hear the unscrewing of a cap.

Now most people who’d just been choked out(and not in the sexy-time way) would probably not want the person to touch their neck again. But frankly, Sam didn't really give a fuck. The drugs had yet to kick in, and he just wanted to sleep. 

But Sam couldn't help but gasp at the first cool touch to his throat. Bucky jerked away instantly, but Sam was quick too. He pulled Bucky’s hand back, sighing when the coolness touched the skin that was just beginning to bruise. 

Bucky massaged the tips of his fingers into Sam’s neck, and for some odd reason, he felt completely at ease. He was baring his throat to an assassin, and he'd never felt safer. 

Sam was almost lulled to sleep when he noticed Bucky’s breathing. It was ragged, and only then did his brain allow him to revel at the intimacy of the moment they were sharing. All of a sudden, every touch to his neck felt like wildfire, sparking against his skin. 

Suddenly, the touches extended below his neck. “Are you giving me a massage right now?” Sam asked, voice wavering slightly. 

The slight rasp seemed to jar Bucky out of his concentrated state. “Do you want a massage?”

“Yes.” Sam breathed. “Use your other hand, too.” 

“Why?” Bucky asked. Sam could feel him becoming tense again. 

“Because my back hurts. And the metal might cool my neck off,” Sam whined. He did not whine. What the fuck did Barnes give him? He had to be high. 

Bucky muttered some shit under his breath that Sam didn't bother trying to catch. He brought his hand up to Sam’s back slowly, and even Sam held his breath. 

The cool hand touched the middle of his back, that spot that hurt every millennial who looked down at a screen and pushed. And Sam moaned. 

Bucky pulled his hands away with a quickness, and Sam gasped from the loss of contact. “What are you doing?”

“It sounded like? Like it hurt?” Bucky asked, biting his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“No. God no. It felt amazing. Please, I promise…it’’s good.” Without Bucky’s hands on him, he was beginning to feel a bit awkward. 

Luckily, Bucky returned to him without anymore fuss. 

Tense shoulders all the way to the tightness in mid back. Bucky’s strong hands massaged out pain that had probably lingered since the very same hands had ripped his wings out before. 

And Sam was putty underneath them. Soft sounds he couldn't control escaped his lips, and he leaned into Bucky’s ministrations. 

The metal didn't bother him at all. In fact, if were gonna be honest, he was partial to the metal at the moment. 

Bucky hesitated the lower he got, and Sam finally moved away, though a part of him didn't want to.

“Oh god, Buck.” He sighed happily. “Thanks.” 

Sam felt like a wet noodle, one who knew he was going to pass out as soon as he hit the pillow. 

“It was the least I could do,” Bucky whispered. He passed Sam the remainder of his tea which he quietly sipped at. While his mouth was occupied, he was able to look at Bucky’s face. Bucky looked just about as riled up as Sam felt. His eyes were dark, but not in a Winter Soldier way. His lips were red and bitten, like he'd been focused. Each second that passed though, made him look more and more uncomfortable. 

“Hey.” Sam put down the tea cup, and pulled Bucky to him. Sam laid down and pulled Bucky next to him. He moved without complaint, almost as if the massage had affected him as much as it had Sam. Maybe it had. 

“We’re good. I’m not mad. We’re ok.” He takes both of Bucky’s hands; metal and flesh into his, and a little shiver runs down Bucky’s spine. “You’re good here tonight?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice shakes with an emotion that Sam cannot name. “Yeah.”

*  
Sam woke up feeling good. His body was relaxed, and there was a warm weight on his right shoulder. His still sleepy brain snuggled closer to it, and the weight froze. 

Sam forced his eyes open, and was surprised to see Bucky’s wary ones staring at his face. 

Then it all came back to him. Dinner. Bucky’s episode. Him almost dying. And then the massage. Sam blushed a little thinking about it, thankful for the thousandth time that his complexion didn't allow it to show. What the heck had gotten into him? 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said immediately, looking ready to pull back into himself. 

Yesterday had been progress. Yes, it had began in a deadly way, but he came out of it, and he felt guilt. Remorse. And then Bucky channeled those feelings into a positive, caring action. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Sam reassured. “Except for letting me sleep way past my alarm.” He frowned at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly 10 A.M.

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Sam…are you ok?”

“What do you mean?” Aside from the rasp in his voice, he felt fine. 

“I woke you up hours ago. You took one look at your neck, and the way you were talking…it was better for you to stay home.” There was mild alarm in Bucky’s voice. 

“Oh, I…don’t remember. What the hell did you give me last night?” he asked. Sam honestly had no recollection of the conversation. 

Bucky slid out of bed, still clad in Sam’s plaid to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He waved a familiar pack of pills from where he stood. 

Even from a distance, Sam recognized them. “Oh god.” he muttered.    
“What is it?” Even Bucky’s eyebrows were tense in worry. 

Sam laughed. “Those were my sisters. She had them from when she got surgery on her leg after a car accident. I was high as shit last night. Those are really strong. Thank god I didn't go to work.”

Bucky visibly relaxed. “So you’re ok then?”

Sam took stock of his body, the same way he did when he woke up every morning in the desert. Aside from the pain in his neck, he felt fine. Good. He told Bucky. 

“That’s good. You should probably go back to sleep though.”

Sam smiled inwardly. “Alright, Buck you can cut out the mother hen thing. I really appreciate it, but I’m a grown man. I’ll just take it easy today.” He touched Bucky’s shoulder, and he didn't even flinch. 

Progress.

*  
Bucky had insisted(in few words) on making breakfast, so they dined on slightly runny eggs and watery grits after Sam directed him around the kitchen from his seat at the table. 

Sam watched him while sipping on the strong coffee Bucky had gotten into the habit of making. He moved around a foreign kitchen with an intensity that Sam could easily see transferred onto a battlefield. 

Bucky apologized before Sam could even thank him for cooking so Sam made a point to get seconds for the two of them, even if he wasn't necessarily hungry anymore. They ate in silence, but it was comfortable in a way that it hadn't been previously. 

They did the dishes while listening to the radio, one of those Top 40 stations that Sam usually avoided like the plague. Bucky however, surprisingly seemed familiar with quite a few of the songs, and hummed lowly along to them. 

Sam washed, and Bucky dried, and Sam listened to Bucky. The finished the dishes before Bucky began to sing. “Want to take a walk?”

He visibly hesitated, but nodded and went to his room - the guest room to get changed. Sam did the same, not bothering to shower just in case the slight ache in the back of his skull decided to manifest into him passing out, naked and soaking wet. 

When he exited his room, Bucky was already dressed, in more of Sam’s clothes. He could tell that the other man was armed, probably a small knife, by the way he was holding his right hand in the pocket of his borrowed jacket. 

Sam decided not to mention it immediately. They exited the house, Sam locked the door, and they two of them began walking down the street. 

It was late morning on a weekday, kids were in school and adults were at work. Barely any cars drove by, and it was unseasonably warm for early March. It was a good day to introduce Bucky to the neighborhood. 

He waved to a few people he saw, mostly young mothers or retirees, people he saw when he used to run around the neighborhood, before he began running on the Mall. Bucky was a silent shadow beside him. 

They approached a familiar yellow house on the corner of his street, where just like always, Mrs. O’ Reilly sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette. 

Sam had met her not long after he'd first moved into the neighborhood. She was struggling to get groceries out of her car, and he stopped his run to offer his assistance. 

“You’re not gonna mug me, are you?” The tiny old lady had said, hands on her hips. 

Sam had laughed, truly laughed. He didn't do that much after Afghanistan. “Nope. Cross my heart.”

After that, they became friends. 

“Samuel Wilson, is that you?” Mrs. O’ Reilly peered at them from over her glasses, a smile on her face. 

“Yep. You’ve gotta stop smoking those,” he shook his head with a small smile at the pack in her hands. 

She snorted. “I’m 83 years old. They haven't killed me yet.” 

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifted at one end. 

“And who’s this handsome young man you’ve brought with you today?” 

Bucky’s cheeks colored under her speculative gaze, a look he’d never seen on him before. But Bucky looked up from his feet, and put out his right hand for her to shake. “Barnes, ma’am. James Barnes. Nice t’meet you.”

“Well hello James. You sound like someone plucked you right out of 1940’s Brooklyn. Takes me back.”

Bucky froze. But Mrs. O’Reilly didn't notice. “Brooklyn was so beautiful then. A mess, during the war. But beautiful still. I’ll never forget going out dancing, or riding the Cyclone on Coney Island.” She sighed. “It’s not the same anymore. I went again, a couple decades ago. When I was a girl it made you feel like you were dying, riding on that thing. But now they’ve got all these safety regulations and doodads. Nothings the same.”

“I rode that. I rode the Cyclone. With Steve. ” Bucky said quietly, his voice almost lost in the breeze. 

“I know you did, Buck.” Sam looked up at the sky, and then back at Mrs. O’Reilly. “You’re right. Nothing is the same.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky leaves. Sam talks to Steve. Bucky comes back. Sam tells his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked hard on this chapter and I really hope you all like it!!! :)

When Sam woke up the next morning, Bucky was gone.

His room was empty when Sam ducked his head in. But there was a pot of coffee on the counter, still warm, waiting for him.

There was a note set out beside his usual mug.

_Sam,_

_I’m sorry. I needed a few days. Don’t worry, I’ll be back._

_Try not to miss me too much._

_B.B._

But the thing was, Sam could already feel his absence.

He could feel Bucky’s absence as he washed and dried the dishes himself. Sam turned on the radio to drown out the silence that wasn't comfortable, but deafening. It was Bucky’s station.

He wondered where Bucky was, if he was okay, if he was safe. Why did he go? And why now? Things seemed to be getting better really, even though the bruises on his neck were still visible.

Sam didn't care about that. He didn’t. Not anymore.

Before he could think twice about it, he pulled out his phone to send Bucky a quick text.

Thanks for the coffee, man.

Hopefully Bucky wouldn't read it as the underlying check in it really was, the are you alright he was too afraid to send.

After a few minutes with no response, Sam turned off his phone and began his day, drinking the rest of Bucky’s coffee in one gulp.

*

After the lonely morning he'd had, Sam should've known that the rest of his day wasn't going to go well.

Every time he shifted, more of his neck became visible. Sam could feel eyes on him all day, It had never occurred to him to pick up some makeup for it.

But when his supervisor called him into his office at the end of the day, Sam really knew he was screwed.

He figured his boss was going to ask him to stay home until the bruises faded, or to cover them up. So it took him completely by surprise when she asked about his home life.

“My…home life?”

She nodded, looking almost as awkward as Sam felt. “A few of your coworkers expressed some concern for you today after seeing,” she gestured to his neck.

Fuck. Sam wracked his brain for a story. Because he defiantly couldn't tell his boss about his new roommate, the one one that may be responsible for all the greatest assassinations in the last fifty years. He’s the Winter Soldier, the one in the videos from the Triskellion.

A laugh escaped Sam’s lips, and he quickly coughed to cover it up. “My…significant other is a vet too.” Sam began. “They struggle with some PTSD and nightmares, the same stuff I deal with out in group sessions, the same stuff I’m still dealing with today. But they’re fresh out.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I forget. Sometimes, stuff happens.”

Sam finished his story, with a neutral look on his face. He wasn't sure what made him decide to make Bucky his pretend boyfriend, but here we are. He made sure to keep all of his pronouns ambiguous, not in the mood to come out to his boss.

Her face softened immediately. “Oh, Sam. I’m sorry for calling you in here. You’re a good man. Get some makeup for that, and go home early.” He began to rise from his chair.

“But Sam,” she cautioned. “Be careful. And give your partner my regards.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

But when he arrived home, drugstore bag in hand, there was no partner waiting for him. Real or fake.

The house was empty, and even though he knew it was implausible, seemed several degrees colder. Sam had been spoiled. First with the light Steve shined into every corner, and then the past few days with Bucky, Bucky who made the place somehow feel…fuller.

He curled up in front of the TV and settled in for a night of mindlessness after changing into some lounge clothes. Sam looked into the kitchen, but was decidedly not hungry after looking at the unwashed coffee pot that Bucky had left him.

The low voices coming from the TV had almost lulled him to sleep when Sam’s phone rang. A picture of Steve’s face mid laugh alerted that he was calling, and Sam dodged across the room for it.

“Hello?”

“I didn't wake you up or anything did I?” Steve asked.

Sam scoffed, eyeing the clock. “It’s only 9.”

“You sound tired!” he protested.

“Really, Steve? Are you gonna tell me I looked bad today too?” he teased.

“Well I didn't see you today Sam,” he paused. “But I’m sure you looked great. You always do.”

Sam floundered for a moment, lost for words. “I miss you, Steve.” he said simply.

Steve sighed, a tired and frustrated one. “I miss you too, Sam. Stark Tower’s not like your place. Or frankly, even like being on the road with you.”

He smiled into the phone. “Really? You aren't enjoying the Stark living experience?” he teased.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s not…home.”

“And where’s home?” Sam asked carefully.

For a moment, Steve didn't speak, and Sam simply listened to him breathe. “You’re the closest thing to home I’ve had in a long time.”

“I feel the same. My place is kinda lonely without you hogging the remote and all the blankets even though you're a living, breathing space heater,” Sam joked, to ease some of the tension.

“Hey! I get cold sometime too,” he protested.

“I know.” He thought about watching Steve sleep in the car while he drove, watching both the road and the way Steve’s fingers would twitch when he was dreaming about the ice. Sam would gently wake him up, and Steve would gasp like he'd been underwater.

“Who was home before?”

“After my mother? Bucky.” Steve didn't hesitate. “He was always there for me.”

“And now you're there for him.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “When we find him, I’m going to make sure he knows how much you helped. I think you guys would be good friends.”

Sam wanted to laugh. He was definitely helping alright. “What makes you say that?”

Steve didn't hesitate now either. “You’re honest. A stand-up guy who isn't just willing, but likes to help others.”

Sam felt warm with the praise. “Sounds like you.” he teased.

He could almost picture Steve shrugging. “We all aspire to be as awesome as Sam Wilson.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me more about Barnes. Before.”

Steve had spoken about Bucky before, often on the road. But Sam had never asked him to, and Steve took his time finding an answer.

Sam listened to Steve weave a story about old Brooklyn. Alleyways and trashcan shields, Bucky Barnes as the knight in shining armor. Pulling him out of the gutter, sitting beside his bed reading softly when Steve was ill. Proclaiming all the best things about him to any girl who’d listen, to try to score him a date for the dance hall. Wearing his best suit to his mothers funeral and telling Steve he didn't have to do it on his own.

He spoke when he deemed it necessary, and listened attentively. But as time ticked by, Steve’s voice lulled him closer and closer to sleep. When he finally drifted off, the phone still on his chest, Steve narrated his dreams and Bucky stared in them, a white knighted hero.

*

After a few days, Sam returned to a normal routine. Wake up. Worry about Bucky. Go to work. Worry about Bucky some more, which would lead to him worrying about Steve. Come home, do sad bachelor things like make a meal for one and watch reruns on the TV just to fall asleep worrying about Bucky, who'd often follow him into his dreams.

Sam had never heard Bucky really laugh. But he dreamed about it. Sometimes he'd be flying - God did he miss his wings - and Bucky would wave from the ground below, the grin from the Smithsonian on his face, metal arm glinting in the sunlight as he waved.

Steve would be there too more often than not, looking at the two of them with a true to life fondness that Sam had come to happily associate with him.

These dreams, while a bit odd were a happy reprieve from the nightmares. But they weren't enough to make them disappear either. The blood, the carnage, the screams as his best friends body plummeted to the ground. They were goddamn pararesuce, but they couldn't save themselves.

Riley from death, or Sam from nightmares that he'd carry with him, as punishment for not saving him.

He wished he didn't dream at all.

*

A few more days, and Sam had almost given up. Not on Bucky, but on having him back anytime soon. But of course, just as he'd began to lose hope, did he come back.

Sam was welcoming vets into the days afternoon group meeting, same as usual. The last stragglers were arriving when Steve noticed someone in his peripheral vision. He spun around, and was greeted with the sight of Bucky, shyly looking down at his shoes.

“Bucky?” Sam asked in surprise, before moving closer to him.

He didn't back away. “Sam,” he said, and before he could think twice about his actions, Sam wrapped his arms around him, enveloping Bucky into their first hug.

Bucky seemed shocked at first, figure shaking minutely, but slowly brought his right arm around Sam. He soothingly rubbed his hands along Bucky’s back, making sure not to forget his left side. Sam backed away only when their hug became a bit to long for both their very public setting, and for Bucky himself.

“You told me I could come to a meeting,” he said, by way of explanation. Bucky tucked his left hand back into his pocket, and he fit right in with the other veterans.

It took Sam a moment to regain his equilibrium after taking stock of their very public audience. “I did,” he said. “But where the hell have you been——“

“Don’t you have a group to run?” Bucky smirked, and that shouldn't make Sam as distracted as it does. “We’ll talk about it after. Dinner on me?”

Once again, Sam was thrown off by this version of Bucky that had returned to him. But he nodded, and gestured toward an empty seat for Bucky to sit in, before taking his place at the front of the room. He looked around at his audience, a group of American heroes, and then he glanced at Bucky, who's face was open in a way that he'd never seen before on him.

Of course, he'd seen it in glimpses; when he'd hurt and then helped heal Sam, under the glow of the refrigerator. But as members of the group welcomed him and shook his hand, Sam was struck by something like love for his group. And that love extended on to Bucky.  
“You know, I love you guys,” Sam began. “You all like to say that I’m the one making you feel better, but honestly, you guys make me better.”

The guys laughed and cheered a bit, so he continued. “I know the handout says something different, but I want to talk about something else today.” he paused. “I want to tell my story.”

Bucky met his eyes from across the room. Sam looked right back.

“Most of you know my story. Sam Wilson, Air Force, pararesuce, flight surgeon. I saved a lot of guys. But we all know that the ones that haunt us are the ones we didn't save. The ones that were at the end of our guns, the ones we had to take out, regardless of whether we wanted to or not.”

Sam squeezed his hands into fists. “Some of you know about my buddy Riley. We were both in the EXO-Project together. He was my brother. His dumbass would always fly too high, go too far, risk too much to save someone else,” he steeled himself. “But what took him wasn't anything particularly brave.”

“It was a simple in-and-out day to day operation. We didn't know there was enemy fire. But their was, and he went flying out of the sky. I flew after him, but I couldn't get close enough, and bullets were coming for me too. I’ll never forget his screams.”

“And I felt guilty, for the longest time after that. Guilt because I couldn't save him. This voice inside my head told me it was my fault. That I could’ve done more. That I failed him. I’ve gotten past that today, but sometimes-sometimes that voice finds me again. It’s not going to be easy. But you just have to try to remember that its not your fault.”

Sam searched for Bucky’s eyes in the crowd. “It’s not your fault.”

*  
“Thanks again for telling your story boss. We really appreciate it.”

Sam shook hands with the last guy, before turning to meet Bucky, who had yet to leave his chair. He was staring down at his metal hand, playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself,” Sam replied, before Bucky met his eyes. He wiped at them quickly with his flesh hand, and Sam looked away politely, though he was sure they were past that stage.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bucky said. Sam took his hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out where Bucky went. Hand holding ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter for today, but this was a good point of separation. 
> 
> There is some discussion of race and sexuality in this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! :)

Bucky led the way, and Sam followed. They walked in mostly comfortable silence; Sam watched the people go by. He watched Bucky.

He weaved through the crowded D.C. streets with an ease that Sam wasn't even sure _he_ was capable of. But Sam could sense the tenseness, the apprehension he held for the strangers on the street. Sam desperately wanted to something, anything to help. But reversing his fear conditioning wasn't something Sam could shoot or put a bandage over. He felt helpless. And he didn't like it.

Eventually, the arrived at a restaurant. It wasn't right off of the street, a bit more hidden. But that didn't stop it from being somewhat crowded. The interior was mostly modern, but the food seemed old fashioned; burgers and shakes.

Bucky headed straight for a booth in the back. one that gave him good sightlines and put him near a window. Sam remembers doing that unconsciously, after. Sometimes he still did.

“It had good reviews on Yelp,” Bucky said by way of explanation as they sat down. “A mix of modern and old fashioned.”

“Sounds like you,” Sam joked, and Bucky snickered. It was true.

When the waitress came around, Sam ordered a simple burger and fries, and Bucky matched him, though he choose a coke to Sam’s water.

“Where’d you go, Buck?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the table.

“Did you miss me?” he tried to quip, but it fell flat.

“Yeah, I did.”

After a few breaths, he spoke. “I went to New York. To see Steve,” Bucky began quietly. “I just wanted to check on him, make sure if he was okay. I wanted to see if I was brave enough to see him. I wasn’t.” He looked down at his metal hand which was clenched into a fist. “I’m a coward.”

Sam reached across the table and grabbed Bucky’s left hand. He slowly unclenched it, looking at Sam with surprise, but allowed him to hold it. This was the first time he'd ever touched any part of Bucky’s hand, and he ran his fingers along it curiously. Bucky gasped loudly, nearly jumping out of his seat.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, immediately on guard.

Bucky’s eyes were wild but not in a fearful way. His pupils were…blown. “Please,” his voice cracked. “Do that again.”

He ran his finger in the space between index finger and thumb, getting the same reaction from Bucky. A full body shudder. He bit his lip, almost as if to keep from making a sound, and heat flooded Sam’s cheeks, as he felt the mood between them shift. He kept up the pressure though, until Bucky asked him to stop.

“I can—-I can feel that,” he managed to get out, face flushed from sensation. Sam was thankful for the corner booth. “Why can I feel that?”

Sam combed his mind for an answer that wasn't there. “I don't know, Bucky. Can you remember anyone touching you there?”

“Never. No one’s ever touched me like that. Not since - not since before.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and unconsciously tightened his grip on Sam’s hand. “Touch meant pain.”

He ran his finger lightly over that spot, watching the way Bucky’s lips fell open in a silent gasp. “It doesn't have to. Not anymore. Ok?” Sam had no idea what he was signing himself up for, but this felt right. “And you're not a coward. I know Steve would want to know that you're safe, that you are doing a little better. But its your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“Alright,” he agreed warily. They held hands until the waitress brought their food. They yanked their hands away quickly, which earned them a smile.

“You boys make a cute couple,” she said, putting their plates down in front of them.

Bucky began to stutter, that same blush coloring his cheeks, and it made Sam want to smile

“Thank you, ma’am,” he answered simply.

“What did you do that for?” Bucky asked, staring down at his burger in apparent embarrassment.

“What you mean this isn't a date?” he joked, smile in his voice. That made Bucky try to smile back at him. He wasn't managing it quite yet, but it was getting closer.

Bucky leaned in like he was about to tell a secret. “Are you…a fairy? I mean, gay?” he corrected swiftly.

He shrugged. “I don't really like labels. But I’m bisexual. I like people.”

Bucky nodded like he understood. “So, like Steve.”

Sam nearly choked on his sip of water. “Like Steve?” he asked casually, though his insides were screaming.

“Yeah. I only knew because I knew - know,” he corrected, “him so well. He never told me, which always kind of hurt, but the times were different.” He eyed their waitress. “She wouldn't have said that back in my day. She would've yelled at us and called the police. We’d wind up in jail, or worse. You being black wouldn't help much.”

Sam laughed, a deep laugh that he really needed. “Fuck, it wouldn't have. You ever go with a black girl, Barnes?”

He shook his head. “No, didn't have the balls. But there was this one girl, Connie Thompson - not sure how I still remember that name - but she was a looker. Long brown legs, big pretty eyes. Of course she never gave me the time of day, even if we could've been together. The prissy types never liked me much.” Bucky leaned back in his chair.

“But the rest did.” Sam quipped.

“Yep. I didn’t have the balls then…but now?” he smirked at Sam, who laughed in return, before urging him to get back to Steve.

“Oh right. Well, Steve wasn't getting much back then. He was the best damn guy in Brooklyn but none of the dames would look past his small stature or his asthma.” he shrugged. “I thought he was perfect, delicate. But he didn't believe me. So since he wasn't getting any, he'd look. Eventually I noticed that he'd look at both a feminine leg in stockings, and at a guys chest down at the docks.”

‘ _Did_ _you_ _love_ _him_?’ a voice in Sam’s head wanted to ask. “And you wouldn’t have minded, back then?”

He shook his head. “Steve was my best guy. I trusted him with my life even before the war. His preference wouldn’t have mattered to me.” Bucky shoved a couple of fries into his mouth. “Did Steve tell you about our apartment?” he asked in between mouthfuls, which made the corner of Sam’s mouth turn up in a smile.

“A bit. After his mom died, right?”

Bucky nodded. “We could only afford this shoddy walkup with a shared bathroom. But it was ours. We lived in the queerie part of town. I can’t remember having a problem with it. Steve should've said something.” He looked down at his plate.

Sam took his hand, now that it was allowed. Bucky shivered, but it was the good kind, and he met his eyes. “You still have a chance to let him know you accept him.”

“Soon.”

“Whenever you're ready. Now finish your food so we can get out of here.”

*

Bucky had insisted on paying for dinner since ‘Sam was giving him free room and board’ and the two decided to walk home. Halfway there, they passed an ice cream shop, and Bucky stopped to look in the window.

“Want some?” Sam asked, not about to say no to a cone.

“I think I used to like ice cream. I think. But it was expensive.” Bucky said, the familiar shadow of confusion over his face.

Sam stepped closer to him, hoping his body heat would be a comforting presence as Bucky sorted it out. “Still is. Wanna try some to see if you like it?”

Bucky gazed longingly into the window. “I think I do. But I don't think my body can handle it yet.”

This time, Sam was the one that frowned in confusion. “You’ve been handling food just fine.”

“They…HYDRA…tube fed me.” Bucky swallowed. “When I was in New York I tried some cake or something I bought in the street and I threw up all over the hotel bathroom. The sugar and dairy…my stomach can’t handle it yet.”

Sam listened in slight horror, and held tight to Bucky’s arm as he began to shake. He could feel him pulling away slowly, retreating into the memories. “I’m sorry,” he said, refusing to look at Sam’s face.

“Look at me,” Sam said quietly. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Bucky lifted his head.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. We’ll get there. You and me, ok?”

“Ok.”

*  
As weird as it may sound, Sam was thrilled to have Bucky back in his space. They didn't talk much that evening, they had done enough of that over dinner. Sam queued up Netflix and put Bucky in charge of the remote, to his excitement.

They started off on two opposite sides of the sofa, but Bucky wiggled closer and closer to Sam, who noticed and only smiled. He fell asleep to the warm weight of Bucky for the second time, his hair tickling his nose.

*  
“Sam?” Sam wake up?”

Sam blearily blinked his eyes open. It was almost dark enough that it was difficult to see Bucky, the TV was dark. “W-what is it?”

“You can’t sleep here. It’ll be hell on your back?”

He snorted sleepily. “Tell me about it. But thanks.” He hauled himself to his feet, feeling but not seeing Bucky behind him.

“No, thank you Sam. For everything,” Bucky said as he entered the guest room.

“Night, Buck.”

*

A couple of days later, Bucky opened the freezer to find dairy-free, sugar-free chocolate ice cream. Sam’s hunt through the health food store was more than worth it, to see the smile on Bucky’s face. Bucky doesn’t save him any. Sam didn't mind. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky realizes he has a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeee new chapter! Enjoy! :)

On days like these, Sam really wished he could be anywhere else.

His morning group meeting had to be canceled because of a storm the night before, that had continued into the morning. The rest of the VA was perfectly fine, but the lights in the big room used for meetings were out.

So he was stuck doing paperwork, and listening to the still pouring rain outside. Rain made Sam feel one of two things: sleepy or sad. Neither one of those emotions were constructive to a productive day at work.

To make matters worse he'd forgotten his lunch at home. He could go out and get something, but as another crack of lightning exploded in the sky outside of his window, he decided against it.

Sam decided that he would have to tide himself over with sips of water and hope that his assistant Erykah had some snacks in that huge backpack of hers she always carried around.

He looked up from the paragraph that he was reading for the third time, when someone knocked on his door.

“Boss?” Erykah’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. Yes.

“Come on in. Hey do you have any snacks—“ he began to ask when he noticed the grin on her face. “What’s the smile all about?”

“Theres a guy here to see you. Not a patient. He’s cute. Said his name is Bucky,” she exclaimed.

Sam rolled his eyes. He was surprised that Bucky was here, especially in this weather. He hadn't been back to the VA since the group meeting a couple weeks ago. “Tell him to come in.”

The Bucky that entered looked like a drowned rat, _literally_ , and Sam told him so.

“You forgot your lunch!” he said by way of explanation, holding up a plastic bag. Sam is sure his heart skipped a beat.

“You brought food? God, thanks man I’m starving,” he took the bag from Bucky and put it on the desk, before searching for a clean, dry shirt for Bucky to wear.

Bucky wore a hoodie that thankfully covered his hair and face from the elements, but the hoodie was almost soaked through, most likely getting his shirt wet as well.

“Alright, shirt off.” Sam said, tossing a clean long sleeve at him.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky caught it without looking away from Sam’s face. “You take care off me.” he said. A statement.

Sam gestured to the food on the desk. “We take care of each other.”

“Ok,” Bucky smiled tentatively. Sam was barely getting used to that smile. Bucky had a movie star smile, a traffic stopping smile. He wasn't used to it yet, and whenever he saw him smile, it made Sam smile because he was at least somewhat responsible for getting him to smile again. Sam’s smiles seemed to make Bucky smile. It was a disastrous cycle.

Bucky was still sort of smiling when he pulled his shirt off, and Sam gasped. Because it was totally unfair.

Unfortunately, Bucky seemed to take Sam’s gasp as one of disgust, because this was only the second time he'd seen him and his arm. The first time he wasn't able to really able to look at it. Bucky’s smile fell from his face, and he tried to put on Sam’s shirt in a hurry.

“Hey. Wait.” Sam said before he could stop himself. “I didn't mean that about your arm. I definitely didn't mean that about your scars.”

And scars there were. Ropey, thick lines on his back and left arm. The space just above the metal, and below the shoulder seemed almost irritated, even though the wound was from decades ago. Like it hadn't been given time to heal before a new appendage was thrust upon it. One it maybe didn't want, if the way Bucky looked upon it was anything to go by.

But somehow, it was also beautiful. Each plate of the metal seemed to move when Bucky did. Hundreds of moving parts that led to an almost unassuming, delicate looking wrist. His fingers were made to wield a knife, perfect for shooting a gun. But Sam also knew that those fingers were great for holding a hand.   
“You know I don't mind the arm,” said Sam. “And I’ve never seen your scars in the light. If anything, they speak to what you had to go through, the absolute hell you had to go through to come out on the other side, stronger than ever.” He leaned up against his desk. “Honestly, you're beautiful.” _No_ _homo_ the part of his brain that was 10 years old whispered to him. Sam smirked.

Bucky looked surprised. “Really? Beautiful? Like you?”

“What do you mean, like me?” Sam was just thankful he wasn't creeped out by his choice of words.

“You’re beautiful, Sam.” Bucky’s face was open and honest in the way that Sam has come to love and hate. Love, because there was something so very refreshing about his almost…innocence. Hate, because it represented everything they took from him.

“So are you. But let’s put that shirt on. We wouldn't want those abs giving anyone a heart attack.”

Bucky _giggled_. Honest to god. He pulled on Sam’s shirt, that was predictably too tight. Truthfully, the shirt didn't do much to stop the whole giving-poor-innocent-office-workers-heart attacks situation. The tight blue long sleeve only enhanced the situation, making _both_ of his arms look huge. And his chest? Well, there is a reason Sam identities as bisexual. Damn.

Ok. Clearly, the hunger is talking. “So…food?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I just made us a couple sandwiches. There’s chips too and some fruit and cookies, I think.” he sat down opposite Sam at the desk.

“Did you pack my entire cabinet, Buck?”

His cheeks flushed. “Well, I wasn't sure what you usually eat?”

Sam laughed. “Good thing you're here. We can probably finish it all with your appetite.”

“Oh, you want me to stay?”

“Of course,” Sam said incredulously. “I don't get to have lunch with you often enough.”

“You like having lunch with me?” Bucky asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah,” Sam said, digging into his sandwich quickly. It was ham and swiss, but frankly he wouldn't have cared what was on it, he was so hungry.

“But, why?” Bucky asked, like he couldn't fully grasp why Sam would want to spend time with him. Right then, and in so many moments, Sam wanted to kill everyone who'd hurt him. He wanted to destroy them. But more than that, he wanted them to see what they did to Bucky.

“Because we’re friends,” he said simply.

“We’re friends?’” Bucky asked, like he couldn't believe it.

“Of course? If you want to be my friend.”

“I want to be your friend. But…I hurt you.”

“The people closest to you often do.” Sam closed his eyes. He knew from experience.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky looked down at his sandwich.

“I know your are. But you don't have anything to apologize for. Ok?”

“Alright.”

“Now, eat your food, Buck.”

*

That night, Sam woke, heart pounding, to the sound of Bucky screaming in the room next to his. He gets out of bed, and tentatively enters Bucky’s room.

Bucky was tangled up in a heap of covers in the guest room bed. He tossed his head back and forth, his hair softly blowing from the breeze coming through the open window. The light from the moon illuminated his body, revealing tears that were running down his face.

“Bucky,” his voice cracked. “Bucky, it’s me Sam. Wake up.” Sam placed a light hand on his flesh shoulder.

Bucky awoke with a gasp.

“Hey, hey. You're alright.”

To Sam’s surprise, Bucky grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him down into a hug. At first, Sam tensed, but when he realized Bucky’s intentions, he relaxed. He held Bucky tighter, which led to him falling onto the bed beside him.

Bucky was crying now, into his shoulder, head buried in Sam’s t-shirt. Sam rubbed his back, but the truth is, he didn't really know what he was doing. He'd never had anyone to help him after his nightmares. All he could do was be there for Bucky, until he was ok enough to talk. He was good at talking.

Eventually, Bucky’s breathing began to even out.

He pulled away from Bucky, who furiously wiped his eyes. “Let’s go get some hot cocoa in you.”

Sam made two big cups of cocoa, making sure to make it with water, not milk, so Bucky’s stomach could handle it.

He passed the warm cup to him, and Bucky took it gratefully. “Thanks, Sam.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam said.

“Is this what its like to have a friend?” Bucky asked, a bit later.

Sam smiled, but it was a sad one. “Yeah, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam was like 'homo. definitely' lolol 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts below! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The realization hits Sam like a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a super short update. But I changed the writing style up a bit, and this is a lot of angst lol. It was a good point to break it up. I hope you enjoy. Bless me with feedback! :D

They're flipping pancakes on a warm Sunday morning. It’s a Good Day, for the both of them, because it was a Good Night. A quiet one. The early morning sunshine is spilling through a window that Sam was happy to open. The radio is playing Bucky’s station, and he’s singing quietly, swaying his hips in a way that tells of forgotten rhythm. Sam has to hide his smile at Bucky’s dance moves. He loves him.

The realization hits Sam like a train.

Bucky wanted to make him breakfast but didn't think he was capable of pancakes, Sam’s favorite. His heart was already warm from Bucky’s pure desire to do something kind, so of course he offered to teach him. The batter was mixed, and _someone_ got flour everywhere. Blueberries were Bucky’s new favorite fruit and Sam has always been partial to sweetness, so they were mixed in. The same goes with the probably stale chocolate chips found in Sam’s cabinet; he couldn't resist Bucky’s puppy eyes.

Sam stands behind Bucky, guiding his arm as he attempts to flip the pancakes. Bucky doesn’t think his arm is capable of anything good, of anything nice. Sam wants to do anything he can to convince him it is. The first couple of tries don’t…work out so well. The trajectory was all wrong, a bit too much force. But Sam convinces Bucky that he used to be a shit cook. His first pancakes ended up on the ceiling. His mom hadn't been to happy with that.

The heat of the stove and the heat of Bucky’s body and the heat of the sun from the window all make Sam feel warm. So warm. He holds Bucky’s metal wrist with a confident hand. A perfect pancake. Bucky smiles. You did that, Sam told Bucky. Not without you, Bucky tells Sam.

For a moment, Bucky’s smile falters. A memory, Sam can recognize by now. But Bucky shakes it off, and attempts a pancake on his own. He looks at the skillet like it was a puzzle he had to solve, a target he had to decipher. He gripped the spatula tight.

And flipped. A perfect pancake.

Bucky turns to Sam, and smiles like the sun. Pure joy, utter happiness. The stove is hot, Bucky is hot, the sun is hot. But Bucky’s smile? Sam feels aflame. He’s burning, he’s burning he's looking right into the sun, and he can’t survive. You know what they say about Icarus.

The irony of that loops and loops in Sam’s mind throughout breakfast. Bucky’s giddy, breakfast is delicious, stale chocolate chips and all, but Sam. Sam is in love with Bucky.

He flies, he flies, and Bucky’s the sun. Sam has been getting close, too close. Ones with wings are destined to fall, and with a sun like Bucky? Sam knows he won’t be able to stop himself.

But he can’t. He wants to. But he won’t.

*

Sam loves Bucky. And suddenly, everything is different.

He doesn’t falter in his kindness, in his presence. Sam is much too kind. Every moment causes physical pain, but he soldiers through it. They huddle together on the sofa on a night on insomnia. A blanket is shared. Close. But not close enough. Sam wants to pull Bucky into his arms and press a kiss to his forehead. Bucky shudders from all the contact with strangers on the street. Sam has his six, but what he really wants to do is hold his hand, touch the spot that relaxes him. But he's sure Bucky wouldn't want to hold his hand in public.

And it hurts. It makes Sam sick because he shouldn't feel this way about Bucky. All Bucky wants from him is for him to be a friend. Someone to get him through the bad nights. Bucky never signed up for Sam’s inappropriate crush.

But sometimes, sometimes a part of Sam hoped. When Bucky grabbed his hand of his own volition on their first trip to the grocery store together(Bucky had been equal parts amazed and horrified, at the variety and the prices). When Sam fell asleep on the couch, and Bucky carried him to his bed. Usually, Sam wouldn't even wake up.

But his feelings weren't fair.

For starters, Bucky spent so much time with him, that he was bound to have some sort of Stockholm syndrome. Not the mention the fact that Bucky has only recently regained himself as a person. Though it wasn't necessarily Sam’s place to determine, he doubted that Bucky was ready for a relationship.

And then there was Steve.

They were so obviously in love, even if they didn't know it yet. It wasn't their fault, it was different back in the day. Steve’s entire being lit up when talking Bucky, and Bucky’s smile wasn't much different.

 _Bucky smiles at you like that too_ , a traitorous voice in Sam’s head told him.

 _Stockholm syndrome, remember?_ the logical part of him responded.

Sam was guilty. The part of him that only wanted him to be happy, the part Sam has spent years repressing wanted Bucky bad enough to consider breaking the worlds greatest love story that spanned nearly a century, wanted Bucky.

Steve wasn't here now. Steve didn't even know Bucky was living with Sam. He could make his move, and maybe, maybe Bucky would want to be his. And Sam would be Bucky’s.

But Bucky would always belong to Steve, and Steve to Bucky. There had to be some reason that they kept dying and living, to be together. He couldn't break that up.

He wouldn't stand a chance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets hurt. Bucky hurts them sevenfold, and realizes he has feelings for Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: For sexual assault and some violence. 
> 
> Sam gets assaulted in this chapter. What made me go in this direction, I don't know. And I hate hurting Sam. It's not a graphic or long scene. 
> 
> I wanted to handle this...as tastefully as possible. Honestly, I didn't want to make this apart of the story but it grabbed me, and wouldn't leave. This is dealt with in this chapter but isn't a main plot point as we go down the line. 
> 
> There's some Bucky POV here, in relation to his feelings for Sam. (I think its creepy. I hope its a little creepy.)
> 
> I also upped the rating, mostly because things will be good soon. There will be some lovin.
> 
> I am really insecure about this chapter so feedback, constructive criticism anything will be lovely. Thank you for reading!! :D

Sam had to get over Bucky.

Every time Sam looked at him, he felt like he was falling. He hadn't felt like that since… he couldn't remember. _Since Steve_ the part of Sam’s brain that had really been getting him in trouble lately said.

But even as they spent more and more time together, Sam felt lonelier and lonelier. Bucky didn't seem to notice, he was friendly as ever, eyes sparkling when he told Sam something dirty.

His eyes were always sparkling. God, Sam couldn't do this anymore.

So the next time Erykah set up a blind date for him, he said yes immediately.

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Really, boss? Awesome.”

“Yeah. Tell me about him.”

His name was Jeff Brooks - blond vet, out for a couple years. He had a job, loved football and beers, but was apparently also a drummer on the side. He loves vets, but doesn’t do active duty.

“Wonder why that is?” Sam wondered aloud.

Erykah shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe he had a guy who was leaving all the time and it was hard for him.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s the job. He should know that.”

But Sam agreed to go on the date, because he didn't exactly have any other prospects right now. Bucky wasn't going to all of a sudden realize he was in love with Sam, and start exclaiming his love from the rooftops. It just wasn't going to happen.

He decided to call Bucky to let him know he wouldn't be home tonight. “Hey Buck.”

The sound of things clanging against each other answered the phone. “Hello?” Bucky eventually spoke, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Hey, its Sam.”

“Yeah, I know.” He could almost see Bucky rolling his eyes.

“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be home until late tonight.”

All the commotion went silent. “Why?”

Sam blushed, even though there wasn't any reason to. “I’ve got a date.” He kept talking when Bucky didn't say anything. “His names Jeff, its a blind date. He lives over on Richmond by us, he’s a vet.”

“Oh. Have fun.” Maybe he was mistaken, but for a moment there it almost sounded like he was…disappointed.

“Thanks Bucky.”

Sam wished he was going out with Bucky.

*  
Jeff was big; tall and blond. A good-looking guy. He greeted Sam with a hug that lasted a bit too long for propriety, in his opinion, and insisted upon taking a selfie.

From the start, Sam could tell that this date wasn't going well. Jeff openly leered at the waitress whenever she walked by their table, smiling and charming when she served them, but made snide comments as soon as she walked away. When Jeff got up to use the bathroom, the waitress, Ruby came over to the table.

“Why are you with that jerk?” she asked bluntly. “He keeps staring at my ass.”

Sam snorted out a laugh, putting his head in his hands. “I don't know either. Blind date. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s just if I was on a date with you, I damn sure wouldn't be looking anywhere else,” she teased with a wink.

He laughed. He’d switch partners in a heartbeat.

“Aw, shucks. I’m on the job. But let me know if you need an escape.”

“Thanks,” Sam answered honestly, “but I think I can get through it.”

He should've said yes.

*  
Jeff instead upon giving him a ride home, and while Sam protested politely at first, he agreed. The sooner he was home, the sooner he could get back to Bucky, back home. It was funny how those two words meant the same thing for him now. Bucky was home. And god, there was no one else he would've rather been on that date with.

At first, the ride was fine. Jeff let him pick the station, but he left it on the one Bucky liked. Bucky who had been an invisible third wheel on Sam’s less than ideal date. They small talked the news and politics, which only made Sam like the guy even less, though he kept his face perfectly neutral.

But Jeff pulled over. What are you doing? Sam asked.

Thought we’d fool around.

Maybe another time, Sam said. I need to get home.

Come on, live a little. He pressed into Sam’s space, gripping the back of his neck tightly. Pressing a kiss to his closed lips.

I said no, Sam exclaimed, moving his face away.

Jeff kissed him again, hard, insisting. His hand found his way to Sam’s ass where he gripped tightly, panting into his mouth. The pressure around his neck increased as Jeff ran his hand down his chest, up his leg. Jeff squeezed Sam through his pants and that’s when his brain finally caught up with what happening to him, what had been happening to him for minutes now.

“Get off of me!” he exclaimed, once he found his voice. Sam elbowed Jeff away from him, and punched him in the face, hard. Jeff’s head connected with the window with a sickening crack.

Sam pulled the car door open, and stumbled out on shaky legs.

“What was that for you stupid fucker? You don't know what you're missing -“ Jeff yelled stuff at him out the window while he wiped the steady stream of blood off of his face. When it didn't stop, he simply drove off with several expletives thrown his way.

“Not so off duty after all,” Sam muttered under his breath as he pulled out his phone to call an Uber to his location on the side of a road.

He had one missed text.

_Bucky: are you ok?_

No! He wanted to scream into the chilly night air. Sam hugged his jacket closer to his body. Fuck, he wasn’t. He felt violated, and gross and - and it felt like someone was watching him. Sam’s fight or flight instincts had been turned back on. He fought him - Jeff. But now all he wanted to do was fly, fly the fuck out of there. Suddenly, he was back in Afghanistan again. Or, more recently, the fight by the Potomac. But he hadn't had to worry about almost getting…raped?

Sam felt sick. That didn't happen to him. No, he was fine. But the nausea hadn't left, and he was cold so cold. All he wanted was to get to Bucky, to get home. But he couldn't tell Bucky about it. Shouldn't tell Bucky about it. He'd sounded disappointed when Sam first told him about his date, that he probably wouldn't let him out of his sight. Bucky would beat all the boys and girls away with a broomstick.

The image brought a little smile to Sam’s face. But it probably looked like more of a grimace. He wouldn't hide it from Bucky. He trusted Sam with his secrets, he'd show Bucky the same respect. But he wasn't looking for pity, no. He’s fine.

Sam’s Uber pulled up slowly and he waved before sitting in the warm backseat. He closed his eyes, and made his way home.

*

“That you, Sam? How was the date?” Bucky’s voice called out from the kitchen as Sam put his keys in their bowl by the door. (When did it be come theirs?)

“Yep. And fine.” Sam hugged his jacket closer to him, before slowly making his way into the kitchen where Bucky was over at the stove.

He turned to look at Sam, and Bucky’s smile slid right off of his face. Sam braced himself for an onslaught of questions, because of course Bucky had been able to figure it out. Something had given it away: his tone of voice, his words, his face, his gait. The way he consciously avoided his eyes. But Bucky changed tactics.

“I’m warming the food back up now,” he said, giving Sam an out that he took.

“I’m going to go shower.”

Bucky nodded at him, giving him one last glance before turning away. He looked relaxed, but his shoulders were tense. Something was bothering Sam, and that bothered Bucky.

Sam used that nice thought to get him up to his room. To get him to take his clothes off; to get him to unbutton his pants. In the mirror, he looked the same. Aside from the marks on his hand from the well deserved punch Jeff had gotten. He felt the same. But Sam’s brain was screaming at him. _This isn't ok._

But the desire to fly away? The feeling was gone. There was no where else to go. He was home. And with Bucky downstairs, he was as safe as he’ll ever be.

And maybe Sam did more standing in the shower than washing. Maybe he just let the water roll over him, only to slip down the drain. He dried off and put on his comfiest sweats, still a bit damp. Maybe he didn't look at himself in the mirror again.

But when he reentered the kitchen, and Bucky gave him a cautious smile(the one used when asserting a new situation), Sam’s heart still did a self-deprecating little flip.

_So this wasn't ok. But it could be ok._

*

“This looks amazing,” Sam offered, even though he didn't feel like making conversation. But it did look great. A nice cut of steak, a baked potato and asparagus that tasted of lemon. He hadn't eaten much at dinner, and he was happy because he got to eat this now.

“Thanks,” Bucky shrugged. “I had to warm it up though, sorry.”

Suddenly, Sam realized what Bucky had been doing all those hours ago when he'd called him on the phone. “Did you cook all this special food…for me?” he asked.

Bucky blushed and Sam wanted to punch something. “Uh…yeah. I’ve been going over to Mrs. O’Reilly’s in the daytime to cook with her. She showed me this stuff the other day and I thought you'd might like some?” He paused. “Sam, are you okay?”

Sam shut his eyes, clenching his fist tighter around his fork.

“Sam what happened to your hand?” Bucky brushed cool metal over his inflamed knuckles. The coolness grounded him, and Sam was able to open his eyes.

“My date didn't go well.” Sam looked down at his plate.

Bucky froze. “What?”

Sam didn't answer, taking another bite of his potato. Fuck, this was absolutely delicious -

“Did he do something to you?”

The asparagus was the perfect texture. Not limp, not hard. Crisp. How the hell did Bucky learn -

“Did he touch you?” Bucky’s voice rose an octave, and Sam was glad he wasn't looking at his face.

And the steak? Beautify cooked. Medium-well, the only way to eat meat. Damn, if the assassin thing didn't work out, Bucky might have a chance to be a chef -

Bucky slammed his metal hand on the kitchen island, causing a small crack to appear. “Answer me!” he exclaimed, body coiled tight and ready to spring.

“Yeah,” Sam shuddered. “Yes.” He wanted this to be over. Sam just wanted to sleep.

Bucky sat down heavily in his seat across from Sam, before he got up and began pacing the kitchen. He sat down once again before asking.

“Did he rape you?” Bucky asked, voice steady. But his arm whirred quietly, the way it always did when he was angry or distraught. Luckily, Sam had been hearing the sound less and less. But the noise was loud in the quietness of the room.

“No! No. He just…touched me,” Sam whispered, suddenly filled with shame now that it was out in the air.

“Just? ‘fuck are you talking about, Sam? He molested you?” Bucky nearly yelled. Sam could hear the crunch of the island under Bucky’s hand. He doubted he'd have any remaining furniture after tonight.

“Don’t try to tell me like it didn't happen to me.” Sam bit out. But it fell flat because his voice was shaking too much. He was shaking.

Sam never did this. Showed this much emotion in front of others. He'd been taught not to, and it didn't matter because he didn't have anyone to experience those emotions with.

But Bucky was across the room in an instant, arms around Sam. Tight. He took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. They used all the same soaps and shampoo and washing powder, so at first, he didn't smell too much different than what Sam assumed he smelled like. But was that…cologne he detected? A hint of spice, something almost mysterious. It was very Bucky.

Suddenly, Bucky pulled away, and Sam felt freezing. “I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbled, looking away. “I should've asked first.”

Sam smiled in relief. “It’s fine, it’s always fine.”

Bucky looked into his eyes, like he was searching for something Sam wasn't even sure was there. “Why?”

“It’s you,” he said quietly. “Now hug me again.”

And he did. Sam stayed in Bucky’s arms on the sofa. _Finding Nemo_ was on (again) because Bucky loved it; even more so when Sam told him Steve did too.

“That stupid fucking fish reminds me of Steve. Pint sized, with planet sized balls. Idiots,” Bucky had said the first time they'd watched it.

Sam had laughed until he'd felt like he was having a minor heart attack, he'd never seen someone so angry about a Disney movie in his life.

Then, they'd been on opposite sides of the sofa. Today, Sam was wrapped in a ball, tucked under Bucky’s chin. He wasn't used to feeling small, but here he was, being cuddled. The TV was turned down low enough that Sam was able to daydream, the warmth of Bucky eventually thrusting him into slumber.

*

Sam woke when Bucky carried him to bed. The cool metal was wrapped around his back, and Bucky carried him with just that arm as he pulled back the blankets in Sam’s bed.

“Stay,” Sam’s sleepy brain shoved out.

He may have been dreaming, but he thinks Bucky pressed a kiss to his forehead. It tingled.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

*

Bucky does come back.

When he finally slides into Sam’s bed, its been hours.

He smells of blood.

Sam goes back to sleep.

*

The thing about ass wipe rapists, is that they're usually idiots.

Jeff - Jeffery Brooks to be exact(wow he even had a douchey name) was definitely not exempt from that.

Bucky Barnes didn't have any social media(other than his anonymous Captain America fanblog) because who the fuck would want to follow the Winter Soldier? But he understood how it worked. Very well. All it took was Sam’s(borrowed) computer, and a quick search for Facebook.

No one ever logged out, so Sam’s profile was right there. He smiled at the pictures of Sam and his nieces, but the photo he was looking for was right at the top.

Jeff had posted a picture of them on their date. Sam looked uncomfortable; his smile was one that Bucky could now easily identify as fake. Jeff was a big blond guy, one of those bearded frat boy types from the movies he sometimes watched when Sam was at work. But he was military too, strong.

But a good punch to the head can take anybody down. Bucky grinned at the thought of Sam punching this guy in the face. Sam had left his mark on this guy, and Bucky was about to too - gosh, he was gonna be smilin’ all night.

Of course, Jeff had tagged Sam. His ego wouldn't let him do otherwise. Bucky clicked on his profile.

The thing about social media, is that people post too much. There’s a pattern. If you post a picture of you and your friends before every football game, in front of an apartment - then its probably your apartment. All it took was a little photo enlarging to get the number, and the helpful information from Sam that Jeff lived only a few blocks away over on Richmond.

Bucky smiled, and closed Sam’s laptop, putting it right where he found it. He checked on Sam, who was still fast asleep, body curled around the spot where Bucky had lay. He grabbed a handgun, just to be extra careful, and grabs a knife to be super safe. It’s a dangerous world out there.

He takes Sam’s bike out of the garage. Sam won’t miss it. He doesn’t have a car, and frankly Uber would be pretty awkward if he ended up killing the guy. Bucky’s too lazy to walk, so he bikes over to Richmond.

His murderous thoughts aren't interrupted, it’s a quiet night. Bucky does some quick recon - honestly he’s messy. He just wants to get back to Sam, so he can hold him. Make him feel safe for a little while like Sam always does for Bucky. He walks along the perimeter, and once everything checks out, he simply picks a random buzzer, and rings it.

“What?” a gruff voice answers. It’s after two in the morning.

Bucky puts on his best boy scout smile, even though the person can’t see him. “I seem to forgotten my key upstairs. Would you mind buzzing me in, sir?”

The man grumbles, but complies.

“Thanks for your trouble.”

Once inside, Bucky walks the bottom floor until he finds an apartment with noise coming from it, probably from the TV. He’s not going to wake anyone up, cause any trouble for people who don't deserve it.

He knocks on the door, and changes his face from friendly to frantic.

“Yes?” a tiny old lady appears in the crack of the door, barely visible with the chain. Perfect.

“I am so sorry to bother you at this hour ma’am but I was wondering if you knew which apartment belongs to Jeffery Brooks? I work for his parents and his mother has just been taken to the hospital. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to ask which number.”

“Oh you mean, Jeff? What a nice boy. He’s up in 297. Let him know I’m sorry about his mother.” the lady smiled at him kindly.

“Thank you so much ma’am.”

Honestly, Bucky was surprised that the plan worked so quickly. His performance was perfect. He crept up the stairs, easily reverting into the silentness of the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s flesh fingers ran over the curve of the knife. He was excited, he was itching…

No. That’s not who he was. Not anymore. Bucky never liked killing. But he never liked anything as the Winter Soldier, except for being warm and out of cryrofreeze. Bucky wasn't a psycho. He was simply protecting someone he loved, like he did for Steve.

Bucky stopped in his tracks.

He was protecting…avenging - Sam and his honor. He didn't think about why he was doing it, it was autonomic, as natural as breathing. Someone hurt Sam, Bucky would hurt them sevenfold.

It had been the same, back in the day with Steve. Steve, who was getting his ass kicked left and right. But Bucky would always find him, kick some ass and bring Steve back home. He'd patch him up, with only a little fuss. Bucky loved him.

He loved Sam.

Sam, who took him in, no questions asked when Bucky’s brain was still leaking out of the sides. Sometimes, he woke up and couldn't remember where he was, who he was. Steve was in the back of his mind, but until he saw Sam, Bucky wasn't a person.

Sometimes, Bucky didn't feel like speaking English. He'd speak only in Russian, and it drove Sam crazy. But he did some research, and Bucky helped when he was feeling better. Now Sam could understand a few basic phrases, which he posted on the refrigerator.

But those were the bad days. Bucky loved Sam when he held his hand. When Sam let him buy five different boxes of PopTarts at Target because _HYDRA didn't have PopTarts, Sam_. Bucky loved Sam in the morning, when he stumbled out from his bedroom, making grabby hands at the coffee Bucky had already poured for him. He loved Sam at night, when he got to carry Sam to his bed. It always gave him a little thrill, at how easily he was able to carry Sam to bed. Bucky would tuck him in, and look at him, just for a minute or two. He’s beautiful.

Bucky loves Sam.

He knocks on 297, and waits. After a moment, a blond guy opens the door, sleep in his eyes. Jeff. Before he can speak, Bucky has him around the neck, pushing into the guys apartment.

A glove covered Bucky’s left hand, but he doesn’t doubt that Jeff can feel the strength of it, gasping as Bucky shoves him up against the wall. Frankly, Bucky doesn’t care.

He releases a bit of the pressure, to allow him to speak. “What the fuck, man? You got the wrong guy, I swear.”

Bucky smiles, sweet and slow. “What’s your name, doll?”

“Jeff. It’s Jeff but I didn't do anything, I sw-“

Wrong answer. In the light from the apartment window, Bucky can see bruising on the right side of his face, his nose obviously recently broken. A flash of heat runs through him, but he shakes it off. Bucky punches him in the face, on the right side. Jeff falls to the ground, equally marked by Sam and Bucky.

He moans from his spot on the ground, clutching at his face which is bleeding profusely. Bucky crouches down beside him, but really, there’s no rush.

Jeff’s begging, pleading. Bucky ignores him.

“How was your date tonight?”

He freezes. “H-how do you know about that?” he asks nervously.

Bucky appreciates that. “Does it matter? You didn't do anything bad, did you?”

Jeff pauses. “N-no. No.”

Bucky calmly pulls one of his hands from Jeff’s face, and crushes it. The sound of the bones breaking are loud in the quiet apartment. His screams are even louder.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Bucky says quietly, in his deadliest tone. If this whole assassin thing didn’t work out, he might have a career in Hollywood. Maybe if he cut the hair…

“Ok! Ok, I’m sorry.” Jeff was full out crying now, though at a much more appropriate volume, holding his crushed hand.

“That’s for lying to me. And for putting your filthy hands on him.”

“Oh.” his face blanches with understanding. “You’re talking about Sam?” Jeff seems to smirk a little, through his ruined face.

Bucky kicks him hard in the gut, and then leans in close. “Don’t ever say his name again.”

Jeff spits in his face. “Oh so your his little boyfriend, huh? I was gonna fuck him so good. But lucky you, really felt like he was packing, if you know what I -“

Bucky carefully wipes the spit off of his face, before grabbing Jeff by the hair, pulling him into a sitting position. His gun is out of his pocket and in his hands in a moment, at Jeff’s head in a second.

“I should kill you.”

“Then do it,” Jeff bites out. But Bucky can almost smell the fear on him.

“I want to. Fuck, do I want to. But if I do, it won’t be quick, doll.” The gun is replaced with his knife, at Jeff’s neck. Bucky bites in enough that he’ll be scarred for life. “I’ll take my sweet time, make sure you feel _everything_. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for the gates of hell.”

“But I won’t. Ironically, the person saving you from death is the person you molested,” Bucky spit out, shoving Jeff back to the ground.

Sam wouldn't want him to kill.

Bucky kicked him in quick succession, certain he'd have a few busted ribs. He wiped the blood off his hands onto Jeff’s shirt as best he could, wrinkling his nose. He put his boot atop his neck, loving the way Jeff shuddered.

“Please. Stop.” he begged.

“Did you stop when he asked you to?” Bucky wants to rip him to shreds. He wants to tear him apart and dance in his blood. He wants to drag his body home to Sam, and present it to him, like an offering.

“You won’t come with in 100 feet of him. If I ever see you again, you die. If you ever touch anyone again, you die. I’ll know. You hear me?”

Jeff nodded, shaking and crying.

Bucky walked to the still cracked door, and left the apartment. He closed the door behind him, of course. He was a nice guy.

*

Aside from washing his hands, Bucky didn't wash upon returning home.

Frankly, he didn't give a fuck if Sam found out. All Bucky wanted was to get back in bed with Sam, to make sure he was ok. To hold the man he loved.

But he couldn't have Sam. He didn't deserve him.

Bucky didn't believe in God, not anymore(70 years of brainwashing would do it) but Sam(and Steve) was the closest damn thing to an angel on this earth.

He’d already stolen his wings. Bucky would defile Sam with his darkness, he couldn't ruin him. Bucky didn't believe in God, but it didn't sit well with him, to bring an angel down with him.

Bucky pulled back Sam’s covers and slid into to bed with him, as if he never left. And as Sam curled up to his warmth without waking, almost instinctively, Bucky realized this was the closest to God he was ever gonna get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me that I did ok with this?? Leave me thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes up in Bucky's arm. Sam fixes Bucky's arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYE number 10! Thanks to everyone for the feedback on last chapter, so appreciated! Here's Chapter 10, which I hope y'all enjoy. Leave me some thoughts, good or bad! :)
> 
> OH did you guys hear about the BUCKY/SAM dynamics in Civil War??? I'm gonna die.

Sam awoke to sunshine on his face. It was late. He started to sit up, when he felt a metal arm squeeze him tighter around the waist.

If Bucky’s arm would've let him, he may have fallen off of the bed in surprise. Suddenly, the events of last night came flooding into his brain; every image, every sound. Sam shut his eyes and allowed Bucky to sleepily pull him closer in his hold, like he knew how Sam was feeling, even asleep.

He forced himself back into slumber, since it was clear that Bucky wasn't letting him up anytime soon. Right now, Sam’s reality was a nightmare. But in his dreams? It was all Bucky.

*  
When Sam woke again, Bucky was staring at his face. When Bucky noticed Sam looking at _him_ looking, he averted his eyes.

Sam realized that it was up to him to set the mood for the day, for the next few weeks. For the rest of their relationship. If he made this whole bed sharing thing awkward, it would never happen again. And as much as it hurt to be this close to something Sam wanted so badly, he wasn't sure that he wanted to sleep without him.

His attitude toward his assault would affect how Bucky treated him. Sam wasn't an invalid. There’s a balance between being protective and a protector.

“You know, you sleep like a damn octopus, Buck.” It was true. There was a leg tossed over his, and his other cold foot was tucked between Sam’s. Bucky’s metal arm was wrapped around him, and when he'd first woken up, their heads had been right beside one another.

Sam was so warm.

Bucky chuckled, and Sam knew he'd done the right thing with a (very true) joke. “Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sammy, huh? So that’s back?”

He shrugged, as best he could with his entire body wrapped around Sam. “If I fancy it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s ridiculous.”

“I’ll test some more nicknames out then.”

“Buck, Sam is already a nickname.” He shoved Bucky off of him playfully, who shoved back, a little grin on his face.

“It’s not my nickname, though.” Bucky wrestled Sam off of him, and gracefully appeared atop of Sam, smiling all the while.

Sam couldn't help but smile. “Fine, fine. Now get off of me and go make the coffee.”

“Christ, I’ve gotta do everything around here,” Bucky said after doing as asked, and leaving Sam’s room.

“Except pay the bills!” Sam yelled. He could hear Bucky’s snort from here.

*  
He didn't really feel like eating much that morning, so he helped himself to one of Bucky’s PopTarts to go with his coffee. Bucky glared at him and honestly looked like he'd legitimately wrestle him to get it back.

It was a quiet Saturday, and after a while Bucky disappeared to the bathroom. Sam read the paper online and sipped his coffee, keeping his thoughts at bay.

After a while, Sam decided to check up on Bucky. “Buck? You alright in there?” he asked with a knock.

When there was no answer, Sam slowly pushed the door open. Bucky was sitting on the edge of the tub with the water running. The plates on his arm were each individually lifted in a way that Sam hadn't seen before. His flesh hand held a wet rag almost completely covered in something red like rust. Like blood.

“Sorry, Sam. Did you need to get in here?” He looked almost sheepish, and turned awkwardly, as if he was trying to hide from Sam.

“No, no. I was just checking up on you,” he grasped Bucky’s human shoulder, and he allowed himself to be turned back toward Sam. “None of that. You know I love looking at you.”

Bucky smirked and raised an eyebrow.   
“I mean, I love looking at your arm,” he corrected quickly. “That looks kind of uncomfortable, do you need any help?”

Bucky looked unsure, and vaguely uncomfortable. “No ones done maintenance on the arm. Not since HYDRA. It didn't always…feel good, and sometimes I attacked the techs. Or killed them.”

Sam swallowed. “Buck. Bucky, we’re past that. I’m no technician. If you need help, if you want me to help, then I want to help you.”

Their conversation was eerily similar to the silent one they seemed to have last night. Sam needed help. Maybe without realizing it, Sam wanted Bucky to do something. Bucky _did something_.

Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew Bucky left last night. And looking at the blood on the wet cloth, and Bucky’s now gleaming metal arm - Sam could guess what he did.

Strangely enough, Sam wasn't upset. He was strangely apathetic to the idea of Bucky killing, or maiming Jeff. A part of him sighed in…relief?

His thoughts were going in a dangerous direction, so Sam sat beside Bucky on the side of the tub. “What do you need me to do?”

Bucky hesitated. “Well I already cleaned it up,” he gestured to the bloody rag. “But there’s a switch.”

“A switch?”

He nodded. “On the inside. More like a lever, really. I think a hanger would do the trick.” He passed one to Sam. “I just need you to reach in there with it and push it up.”

“What does it do?” he asked, curiously.

“It seems to release pressure. The arm can be a lot to carry around. It hurts though. Like a lot. But its so much better afterwards.” he looked almost excited for the relief that was soon to come.

“Alright.” He steeled himself. Sam could do this. “How often did the techs do this?” he wondered aloud.

Confusion crossed his features. “Actually, I’m not sure? Not often?”

“Hey, Buck. You're alright.” he rubbed Bucky’s back gently. “I’ve got you, ok? Right?”

Bucky nodded shakily. “You’ve got me.”

Sam carefully bent the hanger into a point, and directed it toward a plate toward where the metal met his flesh shoulder.

“Grab my hand,” Sam offered.

He shook his head. “No. I might crush it.” Bucky gripped the tub instead. Sam’s heart hurt at the expression on Bucky’s face. It was drawn, fearful. But at the same time, submissive. Like he knew pain was coming, but he was going to bear it, because he had to.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” he asked quietly. “If it’s going to hurt this much…”

“Yes,” Bucky answered, no hesitation. “It’s a mean to an end. Just do it.”

He nodded his acceptance, but before he could stop himself, slid his free thumb underneath Bucky’s palm. With the touch, Bucky visibly relaxed, and shot Sam a grateful look.

Sam angled the hanger to where he could see a lever, amidst all the wires and switches. It was surprisingly simple for tech that probably hadn't changed since the Cold War. The hanger gripped the ledge, Bucky shut his eyes. Sam pushed.

Bucky….moaned?

All at once, his body seemed to go almost limp. If it wasn't for Sam’s quickness, he would've fallen onto the tiled floor. As it was, his entire body was sprawled out atop Sam’s, who was endanger of falling into the tub, because he couldn't support a noodled metal armed supersolider.

Bucky looked positively blissed out. His eyes were shut, his entire figure more lax than Sam had ever seen him. It brought a smile to Sam’s face, though he was grunting in a futile effort to get Bucky off of him.

“Buck I can’t hold you much longer.”

His eyes opened. “Oh shit, sorry Sam.” Bucky slowly lifted himself into a seated position on the floor, leaning up against the tub with a sigh.

“I’m guessing it worked?” he asked, amused.

“Oh,” Bucky sighed again. “Yes.”

“I thought it was supposed to hurt?” Sam asked confusedly. It seemed more like Bucky had just had an orgasm than been in pain, and thought made Sam feel hot.

Bucky froze, and Sam immediately regretted bringing him out of his calm state. “It’s supposed to hurt,” he said, almost like a question. “Why didn't it hurt?” He looked tense, worried about the lack of pain, and Sam was equally full of both rage and sadness.

He slid down on the floor beside Bucky, and pulled him closer. Bucky went without complaint, his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam held Bucky until he no longer noticed the cold tile beneath them.

Eventually, Bucky spoke. “Sam,” he said quietly. “You didn't hurt me.”

“No,” Sam agreed.

“HYDRA hurt me. On purpose. For no reason except for…that they wanted to.”

“I know, Buck.” Sam whispered.

“But why? It didn't hurt. That means it doesn’t have to hurt.” Bucky buried his head further into Sam’s shoulder.

“I know, baby,” the pet name fell from Sam’s lips before he could take it back. “But I don’t know why.”

“Thank you.” Bucky said, after awhile.

Sam simply smiled softly, sadly, and moved to get up, pulling Bucky with him. He attempted to smile back, though he was still visibly upset.

“Hey, do you wanna go outside?”

It was getting warmer everyday, and Sam led Bucky over to his underused porch swing. They gathered a couple of blankets, and split the remainder of the mornings coffee between them, before relaxing.

“Steve used to come out here a lot,” Sam said. “With snow on the ground and everything. Said the cold helped him think. Guess it didn't have too much of an effect on him.” Sam laughed.

“And you don’t? Come out here?” Bucky asked.

Sam shrugged. “Not often. When I first got out, I did. The summer heat sort of reminded me of my time over there. Not the same though, it was a lot drier. Now? Not so much.”

“I like it,” Bucky said. “I like sitting with you.”

“Me too.” Sam liked it a lot, and he hated it.

*

That night, Sam and Bucky turned in early.

Sam had quietly stressed about it all day, because he wanted to have Bucky’s arms around him again, but he didn't know how to ask. Did friends platonically cuddle for comfort?

But he didn't have to stress. Bucky came to his room straight away, dressed in the same pair of plaid pajamas Sam had given him on Bucky’s first night. They'd quickly become a staple in Bucky’s lounge wardrobe.

“This ok?” he checked in, arms wrapped around Sam.

“More than.” Sam was sure the smile in his voice was evident.

He listened to Bucky breathe for awhile, assuming he was asleep. Sam was content with that, to feel his presence while he was awake. But Bucky spoke.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“I didn't kill him,” Bucky said. “I didn't kill Jeff, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh,” Sam replied to Bucky’s confession. “Ok.”

“You don't sound relived?” Bucky accused. “Do you want me to? If you want me to, I can. I can go - “

Sam’s heart was beating fast. “Bucky stop,” he asked. “Slow down.”

“Thank you,” Sam said slowly. But he meant it.

Bucky looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you'd be mad.”

“I don’t want you killing anyone,” Sam began slowly. “But you protected me in the way you thought was best. So thank you.”

“Of course,” Bucky said incredulously. “You said it yourself, we protect each other. I’m always going to keep you safe, Sam. Right?” Bucky’s eyes bored into his in the half darkness, with an assassins intensity.

“Ok,” Sam said with a shiver. “Ok.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets come out. Kissing (and more) ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH. So another chapter I stressed about!!! Here is the Sam/Bucky love, finally, after ten chapters of angst and pining YAY. I'm kind of really nervous about this so PLZ leave your thoughts down below. Please. Thanks for reading!

A couple of weeks passed, and things more or less began to go back to normal.

Sam had starting running on the Mall again. It wasn't the same, without Steve. He kept turning around, expecting to hear Steve’s gleeful shouts, ones that never came. But it was good for clearing his mind. Sometimes, Bucky joined him.

“You stopped running, because of me,” Bucky said one morning, once Sam had gotten back.

He took a swig of his water, before explaining how Steve and him met. “It’s not the same. Not to say that you weren't a much appreciated distraction.”

“You miss him?” Bucky asked, almost accusingly.

“Yeah. Don’t you?” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted it. “Sorry,” he apologized swiftly.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. You're my friend, not my therapist. You don't have to be politically correct one hundred percent of the time.”

Sam laughed in surprise. Bucky surprised him everyday.

Currently, Bucky was in the kitchen, pouring waffle mix into that goddamn Captain America waffle maker.

“Buck,” he groaned. “Not again.”

They’d spotted it at Target a week or so ago, Bucky’s favorite store. He loved all of it, the dollar section, the Starbucks. The toys that todays kids played with were interesting to him, and he often snuck too many sugary snacks into their cart. But on that day, Bucky had spotted the shield from halfway across the store, and went over to investigate.

It was a Captain America themed waffle maker, one that produced shield shaped, golden waffles. Bucky picked it up straight away, and launched into an excited rant about how awesome the future was. Some of which, Sam caught on video.

Even though the amount of waffles Bucky was forcing on him was doing absolutely nothing good for his figure, Sam jumped in to help. Eggs, bacon, waffles - they were in each others space, Bucky reaching around him for a spatula, grinning at Sam all the while. It was domestic, it was light and happy. It was unbearable.

Because this could be their life. But it would be more, because Sam could lean over and kiss syrup off of Bucky’s lips. The delicious food could be eaten off of each others plates. They could sit as close as possible, thighs touching. Aside from at nighttime, they didn't touch often in the light of day. It hurt.

While he daydreamed, Bucky stared into his face with a forlorn sort of expression.

It took a while for Sam to notice, so lost in his own thoughts. “Bucky…is there something wrong?”

Bucky didn't reply.

Sam started to get up, suddenly concerned. “Buck, is there something you want to say to me?”

He nodded shakily.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Why?” Bucky swallowed nervously.

Because I love you! He wanted to scream out. But he couldn’t. “I care about you. I want to know everything about you that you'll let me,” he said simply.

“Ok.” Bucky was shaking, gripping the counter tightly - thankfully with his flesh hand. Sam hated seeing him like this, more than anything did he want to take his hand. But this, whatever this is - Bucky needed to handle it on his own.

“I love you!” Bucky blurted out, eyes shut.

Sam gasped in surprise, unsure if he was hearing correctly. He felt like his world had been turned on its axis because _Bucky might love him too_?

“I love you and I’m sorry. I didn't want to tell you. But its been eating me alive, every time I look at you Sam, I just want to…” he took a breath. “I don't expect you to say the same, I don't want you to. No one can love a monster,” Bucky’s voice cracked, but he looked Sam in the eyes. “I just had to tell you.”

He started to move as if he was going to leave the room, head hung.

“Bucky, wait.” This time, Sam’s voice was the one that was shaking. “Bucky, I love you.”

Bucky stared at Sam like he didn't know who he was in that moment. Like he didn't believe him. “What?”

Sam stepped closer, taking Bucky’s hand in his, carefully. He felt like his entire body was on fire. At the same time, a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Bucky loved him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve loved you for so long now.”

Bucky ducked his head. “But…why, though? There’s nothing to love about me. And everything to love about you. Sam, you're amazing - I couldn't help but love you. But why love me?”

Sam closed his eyes, for fear that the wave of emotion he was suddenly experiencing would manifest as something like tears. “There’s so much, Buck. So much to love.”

He shook his head, squeezing Sam’s hand tighter. “No, no. Sometimes, I don't know myself. But the one thing I haven't been able to get out of my head, is you. I love you so much, that I don’t have to love myself.”

Sam reached up to cup Bucky’s cheek in his hand, making sure that he was listening. “You don't have to love yourself yet, you’ll learn. I’ll love you until you can. After you can. For as long as you let me, Bucky.”

Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes. “I want you to love me.” He ducked his head into Sam’s shoulder, their bodies somehow pressed closer together.

“I do,” Sam replied. He felt light. At peace.

After a moment, Bucky met his gaze again. “And I’m never going to stop loving you.”

Sam choked out a laugh, and pulled Bucky tighter against him. “I’m never going to get used to hearing you say that.”

Bucky snorted. “Well how do you think I feel?”

He chuckled, absolutely warm all over. Suddenly, Bucky was looking at him differently. His eyes darkened, and his gaze ran over Sam’s body, like he didn't know where to look.

“So…” Bucky began. “Since we love each other and all, can we kiss now?”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely.”

The moved impossibly closer together, arms wrapped around one another.

“You sure?” Bucky asked, looking both nervous and excited.

“I love you,” Sam replied. “Are you?” Unless there was something Sam didn't know, this would be Buck’s first kiss since the early 40’s. Nerves built up in his stomach. He wanted to make this good for Bucky.

“I love you,” Bucky copied, voice clearly mocking Sam’s, who laughed. “I do.” he said seriously.

They moved toward one another at once. Then, they were kissing.

It started out chaste, two mouths simply touching, and touching. Yet, fireworks were going off in his head, just like it was said they did in the movies. Sam had thought he'd been in love before, but those kisses had been nothing like this one.

Bucky gently asked for entrance with his tongue, and Sam complied all to happily. First kisses were always exciting, and they explored the new terrain of each others mouth tentatively and excitedly.

Bucky lightly sucked on his tongue, and Sam moaned low in his throat. No ninety year old should be able to kiss like that.

As soon as Bucky heard the sound he froze. Before Sam could squeak, he was being spun around and shoved up against the kitchen counter.

They kissed again, harder this time. Bucky’s hands were most likely pressing bruises into Sam’s hipbones, and the thought made him shamelessly rut up against Bucky, who’s eyes widened.

“Sam,” Bucky moaned, copying Sam’s actions. For a few moments they simply rubbed up against one another, breaths loud in the silence of the house. “I want you.”

“What do you want?” Honestly, it was a struggle for Sam to pull that string of words together. He felt like he was on fire, Bucky still grinding on him, eyes darker than Sam had ever seen them.

Bucky faltered. “I don’t know.” He ducked his head. “I’m not really sure how this works.” Bucky gestured between them.

Right. Bucky had never done this before. Sam would be more or less taking his virginity, and that shouldn't be so hot. But he couldn't deny the flash of heat that sent sparks across his skin.

“I’ll show you. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Bucky moaned.

"You're room or mine?"

"Yours." Bucky said after a moment.

Sam laughed against the skin of Bucky’s neck. "You just don't want us to mess up your sheets.”

Bucky's face flushed an adorable shade of pink, and for the first time Sam was able to kiss it, each of his cheeks, which made Bucky laugh.

Sam could get used to the sound.

"No that's not it. I- I feel safe in your room. With you. And I know that sounds crazy since I can kill a man with a shoe lace....or without one. But I don't feel safe. Except when I'm with you, Sam.”

"You don't have to explain anything to me Buck.” Sam slid a hand into Bucky’s hair, massaging the pads of his fingers into his scalp. Bucky moaned loudly, and pushed his head further into Sam’s touch. Sam filed the knowledge away for later.

As soon as his hand left Bucky’s hand, Bucky was tugging him down the hall toward Sam’s room. He was grinning all the while, and their trip was hindered by them stopping to touch. But they couldn't help themselves, at least, Sam couldn’t. It was all so new. A couple hours ago, this would've been only the stuff of dreams. Now, he was taking Bucky to his bed, _their bed_.

Once they finally made it, Sam paused to watch Bucky, who was slowly pulling his shirt off. “Gorgeous,” he said aloud.

And he was. Bucky was strong. He had to be, to carry all of that metal around and wield it in the deadly way that he did. Miles of corded muscle, scarred pale skin that Sam doubted would ever tan, after spending so much time frozen. The scars definitely didn't take away from any of the beauty, and Sam looked at him long enough so that Bucky would notice his gaze.

He did. “Stop it, Sam.”

“I’m not sure if I can,” he admitted. He had barely begun to take in the rest of Bucky’s body.

In a moment, Bucky was in front of him, completely in his space. And with him shirtless? Yeah, Sam was having trouble rubbing two brain cells together.

“If you don't take your shirt off Sam,” Bucky nearly growled, “I’m going to have to do it for you.”

Sam moaned lowly, just from the change in Bucky’s voice. “Than do it,” he snarked back, though the thinness of his tone betrayed him.

Before Sam could blink, Bucky had ripped his shirt in two pieces. And that was with his human hand.

“What the fuck, Bucky I liked that shirt.” That totally wasn't what he'd meant.

Bucky shrugged. “You didn't specify. And I like your chest.”

Suddenly, Sam realized just how bare it really felt to be completely open to the viewing pleasure of another. But Bucky had let Sam take his turn, so he did the same.

But not for long. “Kiss me, Buck.”

Bucky didn't hesitate. They kissed frantically, though realistically they had all time in the world. Or all day at least. But it was so new. Hands roamed bare skin, investigating, making new discoveries. It was just the two of them, and god, did Sam love Bucky.

Sam gently directed Bucky to the bed, who pulled Sam on top of him. They lay side by side, like they slept every night, but this time was so so different. Bucky kissed Sam all over his face; even on his eyelids and nose, which made Sam laugh. In return, Sam sucked on Bucky’s bottom lip, which brought a much different reaction out of Bucky.

Bucky, who rolled over and on top of Sam, pressing his body deliciously into the mattress. He could feel that Bucky was as hard as he was even through his pants, and Sam _needed them off_.

Like he could read his mind, Bucky began tugging insistently at his pants. “Is this ok?” he asked.

In response, Sam lifted his hips in invitation. Bucky grinned, and stood up briefly to shuck his own off hastily. He quickly joined Sam back on the bed, reaching tentatively toward Sam’s ass.

Sam smirked. “You can touch me.” He pulled Bucky flush against him, which spurred Bucky into action. To Sam’s amusement, Bucky seemed like he just wanted to touch Sam’s ass, not pull down his underwear like he'd expected.

“What? You've got a great ass?” Bucky said by way of explanation. But after a moment, he began to look unsure. “So…are we going to have sex now?”

Sam forced the fog from his brain, remembering that Bucky didn't have any experience. It definitely didn't seem like it.

He shook his head. “We don't have to. There’s a lot of other ways I can make you feel good.”

Bucky looked up at him from where he lay on the bed, blue eyes wide and trusting. “You already do, Sam. You have ever since I’ve known you.”

Sam ducked his head to kiss Bucky’s mouth. “I love you, Buck.”

Bucky shivered, turning his head away from the words.

“What? You don't believe me?” he asked.

He shook his head. “Well, you wouldn't lie to me.”

“No I wouldn’t. So you have to believe me, right?” Sam kissed Bucky’s lips, and then the hollow of his throat. “I love you,” he whispered. He kissed down Bucky’s chest, slowly, until he arrived in between Bucky’s hipbones, where Bucky wanted most. Bucky was a shuddering mess.

“Sam, please, _please_ do something.”

He ghosted the tips of his fingers at the top of Bucky’s underwear, and he bucked his hips in response, which Sam took as a sign to divest him of the last offending article of clothing.

Unsurprisingly, even Bucky’s cock was attractive. Long, and thick; but not uncomfortably so. It curved up toward his abs, dark curls at the base.

Sam curiously ghosted a hand over it, just the softest touch. But Bucky’s entire body lurched off of the bed into it. “Sam,” he panted, suddenly short of breath. “Touch me.”

And who was Sam to refuse?

He tugs Bucky to the edge of the bed, and kneels between his legs, stroking his still clothed cock once before pulling them off, with Bucky’s help. Bucky panted loudly above him, as he stroked his cock curiously, but didn’t make any sounds.

Sam looked up, to find Bucky with a hand over his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously. “I want to hear you.”

Bucky moans at that, so Sam gets back to business, stroking his cock, adding a twist at the end. When he seemed to get somewhat used to the rhythm, Sam bent down and licked a long stripe from base to tip.

“Sam!” Bucky nearly shouted. He pressed a hand into Bucky’s hip, doing his best to anchor him to the bed while Sam continued to suck.

He’s writhing on the bed now, sounds coming out of his mouth at a constant stream, like he simply couldn't keep them in. Sam hollows his cheeks, taking Bucky deeper. A careful hand appears at the back of his throat, not pushing him down, per se, but guiding him. When he realizes that its the metal, Sam moans around Bucky’s cock, which drives Bucky wild.

Sam looks up, and Bucky is trembling, cursing. He’s looking at Sam like he’s never seen anything so beautiful before, mouth open in a silent, continuous gasp.

Bucky’s cock hits the back of Sam’s throat, and he holds his breath for as long as he can, which Bucky seems to like. He pulls off to suck gently at the head, and Bucky keens loudly.

Above him, Bucky struggles to catch his breath. “Sam - I’m, I’m - “

Bucky’s coming, and seemed to expect Sam to pull off, but he doesn’t, and Bucky is spilling into his mouth as Sam swallows around him. He pulls back, but not without dragging his tongue along the underside of Bucky’s cock one last time, with a smile. Bucky’s a shivering mess, panting like he’d just ran a marathon. But his eyes? They were still dark with want, staring straight at Sam.

Sam, who crawled up across Bucky’s body. Bucky yanked him down to his lips, moaning when he tasted himself in their filthy kiss. He moved his hips against Bucky, because Sam was still achingly hard, sucking Bucky off had only increased that. But to Sam’s surprise, so was Bucky.

He reached down curiously to pull at Bucky’s cock. “You still hard baby?” he asked.

Bucky moaned, but looked sheepish. "I haven't had sex in 70 years. Add the serum into the equation…it was like this before. Even worse for Steve I’d imagine,” he shrugged, though he was really pushing himself further into Sam’s touch.

Jesus, how he'd imagined? But he had Bucky now. 70 years. It was a long time. "Are you sure...you want it to be me?" _And not Steve?_ his traitorous mind wondered.

Bucky cocked his head to the side like he sometimes did when he was confused, making him look indecently innocent, flushed and naked. "Of course, Sam. I love you."

Sam shuddered, still unused to hearing him say it. The words were perfectly formed in Bucky's mouth.

"And I love you."

Sam reaches over Bucky into the drawer beside his bed for lube and condoms.

But to Sam’s surprise, Bucky shakes his head. “We don't need those,” he points to the condoms. “HYDRA tested me. I can’t catch or carry anything. And I trust you,” he said simply.

Sam shuts his eyes. “Tested you, how?”

“No, Sam.” Bucky whispers. “Later. Right now, I just want to be with you.” He pulls Sam back to his lips. Sam rolls his hips, and they both gasp, breaking the kiss.

“I need you,” Bucky moans. “How are we gonna do this?”

He shrugs. “I like both. Topping and bottoming,” he clarifies when he sees Bucky’s confused expression.

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” he moans, grinding up against Sam again.

Sam thinks about it for a moment, before laying beside Bucky on his back. “You top. It’ll be more like what your used to.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, but he sits up. “You want me to…”

“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, Bucky.”

He moans, like the words had an effect on him. Bucky picks up the lube, and looks at Sam expectedly. Like he needed Sam to teach him.

That thought sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. He pulled the lube from Bucky’s hand, and Bucky finally pulled his underwear down his legs. He marveled at Sam’s completely bare body for a few moments, and took the opened lube back from Sam when it was offered.

“Put some on your fingers,” Sam said, spreading his legs and laying back on the pillows. The position would allow him to see all of Bucky, every facial expression, every move he made.

Bucky slowly poured some of the liquid onto his flesh hand. He looked nervous, biting at his already swollen bottom lip.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, making Bucky look at his face. “I trust you.”

Instead of responding, Bucky brushed a curious index finger across Sam’s hole.

Sam gasped. It was cold, but sparks of heat flowed through his body because _this was Bucky_.

“Good?” Bucky asked, though Sam would've sworn he could hear a smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bucky touched him there, again and again, making sure he was an absolute mess from all the teasing before he as much as pushed a finger inside. Once he finally did, Sam had to firmly shove away the urge to come. He wouldn't without Bucky.

But it was hard. Every caress inside him was matched with a kiss on his abdominal muscles, a sultry look or smile. Bucky added a third finger, and licked curiously across Sam’s cock, and Sam nearly shouted.

“Buck, I’m good,” he moaned. “I’m ready - I need you in me.” He'd been pushing back against Bucky’s fingers for so long now, not nearly enough to fill him up. He needed Bucky.

He shuddered, but moved further up between Sam’s legs, spreading them wider instinctively. “You ready?” he asked breathlessly.

Sam moaned out an affirmative. “Yes, _yes_. God I love you.”

Bucky lined himself up with Sam, a hand wrapped around his torso. His other, metal hand was braced on the headboard above them. “I love you, Sam.” he whispered back.

He pushed into Sam’s body slowly. Bucky was big, and Sam hadn't bottomed for another man in a while. Honestly, it was a tight face, and Bucky’s face definitely showed it.

Bucky’s mouth was open, silently gasping. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he almost looked like he was in pain, trying to keep from moving; knowing somehow that Sam needed a moment. Sam rubbed his back gently, while he got used to the size. He was stimulated nearly everywhere.

“Move, Buck,” he panted.

He didn't have to tell him twice.

His thrusts were hard and slow, sending the headboard crashing against the wall with the strength of them. Above him, Bucky’s face was naked, open. He was staring at Sam with such…devotion, that Sam had to look away.

As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open. He didn't want to miss this, but everything felt so good. It hadn't taken long for Bucky to find the spot that made him moan the loudest, and now that he had, Bucky barely left it.

As good as it felt to close his eyes and just feel, keeping them open was even better. Bucky’s head was thrown back, the pale line of his throat utterly exposed. His chest heaved with his thrusts, though he was far from breaking a sweat. Everything, the shine of the metal, the clench of his abs - this was going to be over soon if Sam didn't stop looking.

And then, Sam noticed that he was talking.

“ - fuck baby doll, Sam you feel so good darlin’, you're so tight. I love you, Sam,” he moaned with every thrust.

Sam moaned loudly in response, unsure what do to, because he was going to come. Soon.

Bucky noticed his dilemma and grinned cockily.

“Stop the shit talking and get down here and kiss me,” Sam gasped, pulling Bucky closer.

He complied all too happily, though their kiss was less of a kiss and more of them panting into each others mouths. Bucky reached down in between them and rubbed Sam’s cock with his hand. _His metal hand_.

Sam’s body froze in surprise and arousal, and so did Bucky, face blanching when he realized what he did. He moved off Sam a bit, as if to apologize, and Sam nearly had an aneurism, because he was going to _scream_ if Bucky didn't get that metal hand back on his dick.

And he told him so.

Bucky looked surprised, but complied a bit warily, after Sam nearly begged for it.

“I like it when you beg, Sammy,” he whispered close to his ear, metal exactly where it belonged.

“Buck,” he panted. “Bucky I need to - “ he couldn't finish his sentence, moaning brokenly.

“You gonna come, Sam? You gonna come for me? Just for me?” Bucky asked, a wicked grin on his lips.

“Yes,” Sam gasped. “Yes.”

“Oh thank god,” Bucky moaned, increasing the speed of his thrusts. He pulled his hand away from Sam’s cock, wondering aloud: “Can you come on just my cock?”

Oh god. A half a dozen thrusts later, and he was doing just that. Sam felt like his whole body was on fire, noises slipping out of his mouth that he was sure would embarrass him later. He forced his eyes open, and watched through lidded eyes, as Bucky curved his body into an impossible shape, just to lick come off of Sam’s cock.

He moaned loudly, oversensitive, the image forever ingrained in his mind. “Come in me, Buck. Please,” he gasped, every thrust into his spent body feeling like lightning.

At his words, Bucky gasped, his beautiful body tensing up in the most delicious way. He moaned brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut. Sam was filled with Bucky, joined in every possible way. He was content, happy. And in love.

Bucky collapsed atop him, his exertion now visible. He buried his face in Sam’s neck, kissing him softly at first, though he soon began sucking bruises into his skin. Like he wanted to mark him, like he wanted the whole world to know who he belonged to.

That sent a spike of arousal through Sam, but he was done for now. Bucky was still inside him, Sam could feel his warmth seeping out of him, and he knew Bucky could too.

He brought a hand up to Bucky’s hair, curling his fingers into it. Bucky purred like a cat, leaning into it.

“So, how was it?” he wondered aloud.

Bucky peered up at him through his curtain of hair. “You mean my first gay experience with my beautiful, loving…boyfriend?” he asked curiously.

“Sure,” he laughed. “And yeah, boyfriend, partner. Whatever you want to call it.”

Bucky seemed to contemplate it for a moment. “It was great. The best, cause I love you.” He smiled dopily up at Sam, blissed out on endorphins and love. It was a good look on him. “And I like partner,” he added. “Like partners in crime.”

Sam kissed Bucky atop his head, happier than he'd been in too long. “Partners. I like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cowers in corner* sooooo tell me what you thought? did i do them justice? Im very new at this smut thing. Let me know below! :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horny idiots in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments on last chapter! They made me all warm and fuzzy. I hope you like this one just as much!

Sam woke up completely naked with a metal hand on his cock, and wow wasn't that a way to say good morning.

“Morning, Sam,” Bucky whispered into his ear, face tucked into his shoulder, body draped over Sam’s.

“Morning, Buck,” he moaned. “G-get off, I need to shower.” He futilely attempted to push Bucky off of him, but it was difficult since he was thrusting up into Bucky’s palm at the same time.

Bucky sighed loudly, but rolled off of Sam. He was beautiful, body relaxed, a little smile on his lips as he looked at Sam fondly. Sam knew he was grinning like a fool, but this was his favorite look on Bucky.

Reluctantly, Sam pulled himself out of their warm cocoon, and walked toward the bathroom. To his surprise, Bucky launched out of bed after him.

“If you're gonna get clean,” Bucky begun. “We may as well get a little dirty first.”

Sam grinned.

They made out while the shower heated up, and as soon as the water was the perfect temperature, they got in together. Bucky quickly dropped to his knees at Sam’s feet.

“My turn.” he said by way of explanation. Sam hit his head against the tiled shower wall as Bucky took him into his mouth, fisting a hand in his hair instinctively, which made Bucky go wild around him.

Bucky stared up at him, eyes wide. He seemed to be smirking even though his mouth was full, and that only made Sam that much hotter.

The water was pouring down, and Bucky was palming his own cock as he sucked Sam.

He shut his eyes.

*

They were in the honeymoon phase, undeniably. But interestingly enough, not much of their dynamic changed with their new relationship status.

Everything was just…more.

Bucky wanted to know everything about him. Things that he may have felt that he couldn't have asked before they were together.

He wanted to know about his family, more than the cute pictures of Jody that Sam always showed him. So Sam told him.

They're in bed, legs tangled together. Bucky lays on his side facing him, and Sam is on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

He tells him about his father getting shot in the street when he was young. They’d argued before, something petty - childish. But Sam never got to apologize, because his good Christian father decided to break up a fight in the neighborhood, and got murdered for his trouble.

Bucky laces their fingers together. His father died too, but before he was old enough to miss him, in the first world war. His Ma did more than her best by him and his sister.

“Your sister!” Sam gasped. “Is she -?”

“No.” Bucky sighed. “She’s dead. A few years ago. I wish…I wish I could've seen her again.”

Sam squeezes his hand tighter. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Don’t be.” He closes his eyes. “We weren't very close. That much I can remember. I never let her play with me and Steve, she was too young and she was a girl. She cried though, when I went off to war. And that’s the last time I saw her.”

“She loved you.”

Bucky laughs and it’s a dark thing, one that doesn’t belong in their sun streaked bedroom. “She loved Bucky.”

Sam stayed quiet for a beat, the way he always did when Bucky began to disassociate. It happened less and less, or at least Sam wasn’t able to pick up on it as often. “Are you, Bucky?” he asked eventually.

He nodded, meeting Sam’s eyes again. ”Yeah. I’m Bucky.”

Sam pulled Bucky closer to his body, melding them close enough together that they could be mistaken for one being. Bucky sighed happily. It was their favorite way to be.

“Becca would’ve loved you. She does. This Bucky and that Bucky, and all the Bucky’s the worlds ever known.”

“How do you know?” Bucky asked, going for sharp. It came out more broken.

“Because I love you. This Bucky.” Sam said simply.

That brought a smile to Bucky’s lips, a small one. “Sam knows best?”

Sam smiled back. “You got it.”

*

“Do you know anything about clothes?” Bucky asked one day, completely out of the blue.

“Yeah,” Sam panted, “I know about the ones you just tore off of me.”

Bucky snorted, laying back on the sofa with him. “Seriously.”

“I walked in the door like 5 seconds ago, and then I let you fuck me. Now I have to answer random questions, too?” he snarked, but it was all in jest.

Bucky caught up to his game quickly enough. “Oh, darlin’ did I forget to ask you about your day? Did I tell ya how much I missed you?” he smirked. “I thought that was implied when I put my fingers up your ass.”

The sight of those shiny digits made Sam shiver. But he couldn't get hard again, not right now, since Bucky would undoubtably drag him(very willingly) into another round before the days end.

Bucky liked sex. A lot. He’d never dated anyone this horny in his life. Even better, he liked giving pleasure just as much as he did getting, though Bucky joked that was all because of Sam, not because he was a nice guy.

Sam was sure the serum, however fucked the version HYDRA gave him, was most of the reason. Bucky claimed it was seventy years of pent up hormones, but Sam thinks he just doesn't want to bring HYDRA into the bedroom.

Not that Sam was complaining. He hadn't had this many regular orgasms since…well, since ever. Bucky liked it all. But interestingly enough, he didn't seem inclined to bottom.

He hadn't had many lasting relationships with other men, but in the couple he did have, Sam nearly always topped. He didn't mind bottoming, he'd do it for the rest of their lives if Bucky was so inclined. He didn't just put his back into it, or his hips. Bucky put his heart, his goddamn soul into every thrust.

But Bucky hadn't brought up bottoming, and Sam wondered if he was…scared? Or was this some sort of left over stigma - that only girls take it? Sam doubted it was a masculinity issue. Not with those lovely tresses. Sam smirked to himself.

He wouldn't ask, but Sam would wonder.

“My day was great Buck,” he said eventually. “And I missed you too. Oh, and the fingers? Quite honestly, the best part of the day.”

Bucky smiled lewdly. “I’m glad. Good part of mine too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just good?”

“Taking you in the shower this morning was pretty good too.”

Sam huffed out a laugh, remembering. “Yeah that was pretty great until you brought the shower rod down on us.”

He laughed. “Sam,” he whined. “I needed leverage!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, no more shower sex until you fix it.”

Bucky pouted. “I’ll work on it tomorrow.”

“You do that.” Sam chuckled. “Now what were you asking me? And put your clothes on, my mom sits on this sofa.”

He rolled his eyes but shucked on his pants, apparently going commando. “Clothes. Do you know anything about fashion?”

“Finally gonna pursue that modeling career? It’ll be good for you to have a job.” Sam joked.

“I do have a job, Sammy. I’m an assassin.” He gave Sam his sugariest smile.

“Aren’t you retired?” He resisted the urge to sock him for the nickname.

“Nope,” said Bucky, popping the ‘p’. “Just on leave.”

“Oh,” Sam replied. This was the first he’d heard. “So you want in again?”

“Don’t you?” Bucky shot back, fire in his eyes. To be honest, this was another of Sam’s favorite looks on him. “I see the look on your face when you’re talking to Steve. You want back in.”

Sam averts his eyes. “Maybe.” he admits.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Sam.” Bucky says. _Right?_ he asks with his eyes.

“Nothing wrong at all.” Sam agrees.

“I just want to do my part,” Bucky says, gripping the arm of the sofa. “I’ve hurt a lot of people - more than I can remember. I’ve gotta do _something_.”

He grabs Bucky’s metal hand, absently rubbing the spot in between finger and thumb. “You’re a good man, Buck. But the truth is, you don't have to do anything, if you don’t want to.”

Bucky smiled softly at Sam, leaning in to rest against his side. “‘I’m not. But you’re teaching me to be.”

Sam kissed his forehead. “I’m serious. If you want, we can just hang out here for awhile and like, I don’t know, bake cupcakes.”

He snorted. “But I’ll get fat. Will you love me if I’m fat, Sam?”

“I doubt it. And I’ll love you if you’re green,” Sam said truthfully.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Even so?”

Sam pressed a kiss to his parted lips. “Even so.”

*

As it turns out, Bucky’s question about fashion was literally about clothes.

He’d been thin when he'd first appeared on Sam’s doorstep. Too thin. And now? Regular meals and snacks, coupled with the almost violent amount of exercise he did in the yard while Sam was at work had made Bucky a healthy guy.

He looked good.

And all of his clothes(Sam’s clothes) were way too tight on him.

Sam hadn't noticed before, and now that he had? He couldn't stop noticing.

Interestingly enough, Bucky hadn’t.

According to him, he needed new clothes to look good for their first real date. When Sam was home, they'd mostly been having sex, eating, and laying around.

He was appropriately charmed, and took Bucky to the mall, hoping that the crowds wouldn't be too much for him.

Sam had sent him a few mens fashion articles while on his lunch break at work earlier that week, mostly in jest. But to his surprise(and horror) Bucky had taken them seriously and was going on and on about finding his personal style; arms full of overpriced designer clothing.

Bucky had actually screamed in the Nike store an hour or so ago, when his new sneakers rung up. However, he'd seemed to have forgotten about that ‘traumatic experience’ because the mountain off stuff he was carrying would probably add up somewhere in the thousands.

Thank goodness for HYDRA and their offshore accounts.

He too picked up a couple things here and there, and smiled wildly at Bucky’s choices. But all he could do was stare at Bucky’s ass and wonder how the fuck it fit in Sam’s jeans. He was all but bursting out of that damned red henley that Sam was going to fuck him in one day.

But the new clothes weren't so bad either.

The black skinny jeans were somehow tighter, but in a more flattering way. A very flattering way. Bucky’s simple button down had quite a few open buttons, and a glint of metal around his throat shone in the light.

“What do you think?” Bucky asked, keeping his voice lower than necessary in the empty dressing room. His smirk told Sam that he knew exactly how he looked.

“I wanna fuck you.” Sam blurted out, before he could censor himself.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “You do? Let’s go home. Like now.”

Sam laughed, relived. “Of course I do. I’ve wanted to for ages now.”   
“Then why didn't you?” Bucky asked, choosing his items quicker now.

“You didn't ask.” Sam said, now aware of how silly that sounds.

“Neither did you.” Bucky points out.

He rolled his eyes. “Pay for your shit so I can take you home and ravish you.”

Bucky shivered.

*

A couple hours later, and he still was.

Bucky’s body was spread out beneath him, looking absolutely delicious. He wanted to taste every inch of him. So he did.

He shouted, almost full volume when Sam licked over his hole, so he took that as a good sign, adding a finger. Sam didn't stop until it sounded like Bucky was about to cry, an inch away from coming.

“Sam,” Bucky gasped. “Come on, come on get in me. Sammy I need to come, please.” he begged body tense on the bed, but still arching into Sam’s touch.

Sam smiled at Bucky, though he knew Bucky couldn't see his face from his vantage point in between his legs. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s pale inner thigh. “Then come, baby.”

Bucky cried out, fisting a hand into the sheets, body lurching into the air. But he didn't come. “No. No - need you in me first,” he begged.

Sam moaned aloud, spurred into action. They kissed dirtily, like Bucky was licking his taste from Sam’s mouth.

Bucky slicked him up, and it wasn't long before he was pushing into him, loosely gripping Bucky’s hands above his head.

Bucky was virgin tight. And with the serum? Sam hoped he wouldn't go off before Bucky did.

Luckily, that didn't seem like it was going to be a problem.

His mouth was open in a silent gasp, his limbs twisted around Sam, pulling him in even closer. “Sam, move. Please,” he asked quietly.

Bucky pulled his hands easily out of Sam’s hold, and began running them up and down Sam’s sides, making him shiver. He held onto the headboard instead, lazily thrusting into his gorgeous boyfriend. Sam wasn't sure where to look.

At Bucky’s almost rapturous facial expression, or his chest almost heaving with the effort not to come. Or, he could look where their bodies were joined.

Luckily, Bucky seemed to be having the same dilemma. He was gasping and crying out almost continuously, seemingly unable to string together his usual shit talk. Every thrust against his prostrate sent him into a new frenzy, pushing him closer and closer to orgasm.

Bucky reached up, and before Sam could react, Bucky had flipped them over. The display of strength sent sparks down his spine, as did the new position. Bucky must’ve liked it too, because on the first downward stroke he came, nearly screaming.

He was beautiful, head thrown back, whimpers escaping his lips as he came down. Sam attempted to pull him off, not wanting him to become overstimulated, but Bucky shot that down quickly.

“What are you doing?” he almost growled, grinding down territorially on Sam’s cock.

His eyes rolled back in his head, because Bucky’s body was even tighter after coming. “You came,” he panted.

Bucky shrugged. “You didn’t. I’ll come again, don't you worry your pretty head about it.” He leaned in and mouthed at Sam’s collarbone.

“Fuck.”

Bucky began riding him at a punishing pace, flesh hand on the headboard, metal hand palming himself. He looked directly into Sam’s eyes as he bounced up and down on him, looking equally naughty and fucked out.

Once he began to tire, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself together, Sam gently flipped him onto his back, pulling Bucky’s legs over his shoulders. Bucky moaned loudly, and Sam grinned. He had tricks too.

“Buck. Do you wanna come with me?” he asked in his ear.

He gasped. “Yes, Sam please please - “

Sam silenced his shout with a kiss, but left his lips quick enough to see him come undone.

Sometime later, Bucky still held Sam hostage inside of him. He didn't really mind. Sam kissed all over Bucky’s face as he came back to himself.

“Maybe we should go get cleaned up?” he asked gently, pressing one last kiss to his nose.

Bucky laughed, and Sam felt a fresh wave of warmth overtake him.

“Do we have to?” Bucky whined, cuddling their sweaty bodies closer together.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But don’t get mad at me when your all gross.”

Bucky pulled him into a sweet kiss, both of them smiling into it. “I don’t care. I love you, Sam. And thanks.”

“For?” he asked.

“Fucking me into the afterlife.” he laughed into Sam’s shoulder.

Sam rolled his eyes. “It was a burden, really,” he said, finally rolling off of Bucky even though he didn’t seem inclined to let him.

“By the way, I like your new clothes,” Sam said, pulling Bucky closer. Apparently, he was the big spoon tonight. “But I think you should still wear mine sometimes.”

Bucky grinned.

*

It took them a couple days, but eventually, they finally made it out of the house and on their first real date. It was simple, because that’s all they wanted. They didn't need anything except each others company.

Bucky was almost certain that his stomach could handle it now, so Sam took his boyfriend out for ice cream. They walked, because the fresh air was just that nice, and held hands all the while. After, they were going to go look at the stars.

Sam kept sneaking glances at Bucky, not noticing that he was doing the same. It was absolutely  
surreal that this was his life now.

At the ice cream shop, he convinced Bucky to stick to a small vanilla, since it was full sugar, and Bucky complied, though the little shit smiled at the girl behind the counter and got her to put the small in a large cup so he could fill it with toppings.

“You’re a menace,” Sam said when he looked into Bucky’s cup. He himself chose mint chocolate chip, which wasn't any better, but Jesus did Bucky’s cup look like a rainbow.

They sat down at a booth across from one another, and Bucky began to tuck in to his pile of sugar.

“You’re totally not allowed to smile at other people like that. Frankly, it’s distracting.”

Bucky smirked. “To you?”

“To everyone,” Sam took another bite, and fed a bite to Bucky who was making grabby hands at his cup.

He licked ice cream off of Sam’s spoon lewdly, and Sam had to resist the urge to moan.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Bucky asked, nodding in approval at Sam’s choice in flavor.

“Hmm.” Sam pretended to contemplate it for a moment, before looking down at his ice cream. “I might just decide that I’m not in the mood when we get home.”

Bucky froze. “You wouldn’t,” he almost growled.

Sam laughed, getting the reaction from him that he wanted. They hadn't had sex yet today, and Bucky had been clearly…agitated since Sam had gotten home from work. He hadn't wanted to miss their date though, and they both knew that if they'd attempted to get a quickie in, it would've quickly become round two and then they would never get out of the house.

“Watch me, Buck.”

The grinned dopily at each other, both knowing that Sam was only teasing.

They were getting ready to leave, when a little girl jumped out of her chair, making it clatter loudly as it fell to the floor.

“That’s Captain America!” the little girl gasped, causing every head in the room to turn toward the TV.

Bucky and Sam froze, instinctively clasping hands.

 **Captain America dead?** was in bold letters across the bottom of CNN’s channel. And on the screen, was a video of Steve in uniform going down, looped again and again, and again.

“Steve.” Bucky whispered brokenly, a shout in the silent store.

Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know down below! :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets Natasha on the line. Things are said, confessions made. Steve comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky 13?? Unlucky, for Steve maybe. So excited that he's finally reappearing here! Thanks so much for all your comments and kudos, I smile. Like a lot.

“Nat. Nat, talk to me.”

They were standing outside the shop, waiting on their ride home. It had taken him a couple of tries, but he was finally able to get Natasha on the line.

“I’ll assume you saw the news?” she asked. “I haven't heard from you in weeks.”

Sam looks over at where Bucky is sitting on the curb, staring intently at the cars passing by. He can see Bucky shaking, like the stress of potentially losing his best friend was too much for his body.

“I’ve been busy.”

Natasha contemplates that for a moment. “Steve’s fine. Or he will be.”

“What do you mean he will be?” Sam asked, his voice probably rising in pitch. He’s suddenly all the more stressed, and Bucky picks up on it, standing swiftly and coming to stand beside him against the wall. His presence grounds Sam a bit, his warmth melting some of the fearful ice inside of him.

“What happened, Nat?” he asked, somewhat calmer. “He was alone in the video. Why wasn't anyone watching his six?”

“Anyone like you?” Natasha asks coolly. “You’ve been holed away in D.C…doing something.”

Sam is completely thrown. “What? You can’t put this on me.”

“I’m not, Sam. He misses you, though.”

“I miss him. Nat, god I miss him. But he didn't want me there. He doesn’t. I don't know what he’s told you, but…”

Natasha sighs into the phone. “Nothing. Sam, he hasn't told me anything. But every time your name comes up, Steve brightens up like the sun.”

He sighs into the phone. Bucky squeezes his hand tighter, between finger and thumb. And even though he doesn’t have any special pressure sensors there, it still relaxes him a bit, and he gives Bucky a shaky smile.

“You still haven't told me what happened, Nat.”

“Standard op, only a few of us. New group, not HYDRA but not much better. Hostages, mostly women and children. They were heavily armed, more than we thought. Nothing S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't handle.”

“Or what’s left of it,” he mutters.

“But we didn't know about the bombs. Our intel told us about more hostages, but there weren't any. No bombs either. They wanted Cap. We weren’t going to let that happen though. Bullets were coming from every which way, a lot of them.” she sighs.

“He got caught in the crossfire,” Sam guesses.

“Yeah. But they were shooting at him.”  
  
Sam runs a hand through his hair. “He’ll heal?”

“Yes, Sam. It looks worse on TV then it does here. It only took him a few days to recover after the Winter Soldier.”

Beside him, Bucky froze.

“His name is Bucky,” Sam said slowly. “And that wasn't his fault.”

“Maybe not. But it still happened.” Natasha said quietly.

“Can I talk to him?” It would be good for Bucky to hear his voice. It would be good for Sam, too.

“He’s not awake yet.”

“He’s unconscious? I’m coming up there.”

Natasha paused. “I’m not sure if he wants to pull you from your life.”

“Steve’s a part of that. A part of my life, Nat.” he said. A bigger part than she knew.

“How about I have him call you when he wakes up.”

“Fine,” Sam conceded. “24 hours or less. Or I’m flying out.”

“Alright Sam. And I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Me too.” Sam hung up the phone as their Uber pulled up, and Bucky pulled him into the car, foregoing seatbelts and pulling him close.

*

Date night mood long behind them, they got ready for a night of cuddling. Stressfully.

Sam expected to spend the night comforting Bucky. He didn't mind. Making someone he loves feel better gives Sam one of the best feelings in the world.

But today? Sam couldn’t. He was on high alert. He missed Steve, even more now. And he felt…guilty. Natasha probably wasn't intending to make him feel that way(or maybe she was). But Steve hadn't wanted him in New York. Had he?

Sam liked making people feel better. But right now, he couldn't be that for Bucky. Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Bucky was shockingly calm, bringing out the hot cocoa that had unofficially become their beverage of choice for less than ideal situations. He made two cups, and brought a blanket over to the sofa for them.

“Thanks,” Sam said quietly, accepting the cup, hands shaking slightly. He hated when that happened. It was rare now, something that only appeared when he was really anxious.

Bucky nodded, and looked at Sam.

“Am I this creepy when I’m worried about you?” Sam asks sometime later, once he’s calmed down.

“Creepy? You? Never. Me? Probably.”

Sam laughs. “You always make me smile. Even when…”

“When what?”

“Why aren't you freaking out?” Sam blurts out.

Bucky leans back against the sofa. “Steve was tiny. And really sick. If someone was sick in our damn building, the little punk would manage to catch it. I worried about him for years. My Ma’ told me once that I worried about him like he was my little wife.” He smiled a little, self-deprecatingly.

“I learned to keep it in. I’m a ball of stress right now. I probably won’t eat again until I hear his voice.” he added.

“You love him.” Sam guesses. Inwardly, he feels nothing. Everything they’d built the past few weeks could come tumbling down right in front of him.

“I did,” Bucky said quietly. “It took me awhile to work that out. Those feelings. It wasn't until…until I realized I loved you. That’s when I realized that’s how I felt about Steve back in the day.”

“Alright.” He turns away from Bucky ever so slightly, but of course, Bucky picks up on it.

“Sam, what are you doing?”

He shrugs, words not feeling like making an appearance.

“That Bucky loved Steve. I missed that chance when I slept with every dame in the neighborhood who’d let me. I missed that chance when my dumbass went and fell into an icy ravine.” He snorts at his own dark joke. “This Bucky? This asshole was some how lucky enough to meet this angel that’s way out of his league.”

Bucky pulled Sam closer, as if to make sure he wouldn't miss a single word. “That’s you.”

“Steve loves you,” Sam protested weakly, though it was hard to argue when those steel blue eyes were looking straight into his.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, Sam. I’m not letting you go anywhere. Alright?”

Sam shivers, and allows Bucky to pull him closer, almost into his lap. He pulls the mug out of Sam’s hand and tugs the blanket up around him.

“Go to sleep, Sam. We may have to travel tomorrow.”

Sam looks up at him. “You’re going to go? You're going to see Steve?”

“It’s probably time. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Buck. It’ll be good for you.” He snuggles in closer to him, Bucky’s arms holding him tight.

Sam was going to take advantage of this for as long as he possibly could. They were going to visit Steve. They were finally going to realize that they were in love. And then Bucky was going to leave him.

And he’ll let him.

*  
Sam woke up slowly in the morning.

He was warm, though his back protested sleeping awkwardly atop Bucky for an entire night. Sam peeled himself out of his hold, though even in sleep Bucky seemed to protest.

Sam smiled at Bucky’s sleeping form. They’d come a long way. Nightly nightmares for Bucky had begun to stop. He trusted Sam enough to keep sleeping soundly when he moved around the house. And Sam’s mild insomnia had all but disappeared. It was probably the very…athletic sex that put him right to sleep. But he liked to think that Bucky’s arms were home.

They made each other better. But Bucky and Steve? Their love story spanned decades. Sam thought about ending it. But he wasn't that strong. Besides, Bucky needed to realize that on his own. Sam wasn't going to hurt him for no reason.

The only one getting hurt here, was Sam. But they deserved to be happy. Together.

Sam watched Bucky for a moment longer, before looking at his phone. Nothing from Nat. He sighed, and decided to put some breakfast on, to let Bucky sleep a bit longer. Sam had been a mess last night. But now, Sam could see Bucky’s stress written in his face.

He pulled out stuff for omelets, going for a healthier option than what Bucky usually did. Sam rolled his eyes at the ridiculous amount of Pop-Tarts in his cabinet. It was like he was raising a small army of children.

Bucky claimed that he wouldn't be able to eat until they heard, but Sam would most likely be able to coax him into a light breakfast.

Sam waited on the eggs to harden up, and thought about his mom. He realized with some horror that he hadn't spoken to her in a few weeks. She was going to kill him.

He dialed her number, and unsurprisingly, she picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Mom.”

“Is this my son? I almost don’t recognize your voice, it’s been so long since you’ve called.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Mom. I’ve been a bit busy.” He held the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, flipping the omelets over. “Besides, I’ve been texting you.”

“Texting isn't the same thing as having a conversation, Samuel.” she chastised him.

“Fine, mom.” He smiled into the phone. “How have you been?”

Sam listened as his mom talked about the people in their neighborhood in Harlem. Even after his dad died, she hadn't been able to leave, a New Yorker through and through. Sam on the other hand, got out. First, overseas and then to D.C., unable to leave the city life completely behind. His mom told him that his sister Sarah had gotten a new job, and that his niece Jody had joined a little league softball team.

“She win any games?”

His mom laughed. “I don't think so. But she's been asking about you. Maybe if Uncle Sam paid a visit, she’d win one.”

Sam chuckled in response. Another thing to add to his to do list.

Awkwardly, Sam managed to make two plates, and spun around to place them on the island. To his surprise, Bucky was right behind him. He jumped, letting go of one of the plates, which Bucky caught midair, with a sneaky smirk.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” he chastised, completely forgetting about the phone at his ear.

“Doin’ what Sam?” Bucky asked in his most innocent voice.

“Sneaking up on me, you bastard.” In his ear, Sam’s mother tutted at his use of language, and he blushed, forgetting she was on the line.

“Sorry, Mom,” he apologized, glaring at Bucky who gave him his most angelic look.

“You should've told me you had company, Samuel. Who’s over?” she pried curiously.

Sam sighed. “A..friend.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, and shook his head minutely, so Sam corrected himself. “My boyfriend.”

“Oh,” his mom answered. “I didn't know you had one Sam. You’re so bad at keeping your old mother in the loop.”

“Put her on speaker.” Bucky suggested.

He did as he was asked, and grinned as Bucky got closer to him to be near the phone. “Mrs. Wilson? How are you, ma’am?”

“Hi honey. And it’s Darlene. None of that ‘Mrs.’ stuff. What’s your name?”

Bucky paused. “James, ma’am. Sam’s told me a lot about you and the rest of your family.”

“Well he hasn't told me anything about you. I hope that’s because he’s happy.” Darlene said.

Bucky looked at Sam, smiling softly. “Gosh, I hope so, Mrs. Wilson.”

They chatted mindlessly for a bit longer, not signing off until his mom made Bucky promise to come visit soon(and bring her son along, too).

“I’m sorry about that,” Sam apologized after hanging up.

“About what?” Bucky got up and poured a glass of orange juice, which Sam stole from him as soon as he sat it on the counter. Bucky glared and Sam stuck his tongue out.

He shrugs. “I know you didn't expect the 3rd degree this morning.”

“I like her. She seems like a good mom. I’d like to meet her.”

“She is. And that’s a first. People usually hate meeting the parents.” Sam said, grabbing more orange juice from the fridge since they were apparently sharing a cup.

“Not me,” Bucky replied. “And lucky for you, you won’t have to meet any,” he said amusedly.

“What the hell, Buck.”

“What?”

“Please don't make jokes like that in public, people will think you're crazy.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked, humor still in his tone.

“Aren’t we all?” Sam replied.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Cut the psych bullshit and give me the OJ.”

"Steve might kill me when he finds out about us," Sam jokes, though inwardly, he's nervous.

Bucky snorts. "I'd like to see him try. But he already cares about you, Sam. I doubt anything can change that.”

*

The day passed slowly, and stressfully.

As the time ticked closer and closer to the 24-hour mark, the more worried Sam got.

He began pulling up flights for two to New York, and Bucky dragged a couple suitcases out of the closet. They were hoping for the best, but realistically, were preparing for the worst.

If Steve wasn't waking up, then they needed to be by his side. Natasha’s words were ringing through his mind. If Steve needed him, why did he push him away?

Sam’s cell rang, and they both froze, before hurrying to pick it up.

Bucky got to it first, but handed it over to Sam reluctantly. He wanted to talk to his best friend desperately, you could see it in his body.

“Are you going to talk?” Sam asked curiously, before picking up the phone.

He hesitated. “No,” Bucky shook his head. “That’s not…a conversation that should be had over the phone.”

Sam nodded, agreeing, and answered the call. “Nat?” he asked.

“Sam,” she said lightly. “Wasn’t sure you were going to pick up.”

“I wouldn't miss it. We’re - I,” he corrected swiftly, “was just beginning to pack a few things up.”

“Steve’s awake.” Nat said, and Sam sighed in relief.

Bucky tugged him down the hall to their room, and pulled the phone out of his hand before putting it on speaker.

“Can I talk to him?” he asked, hopefully. Would Steve want to talk to him?

“He’s been asking for you all day,” she said. “You and Barnes,” she added.

Bucky sucked in a breath, but steeled himself quickly. They laid down on the bed, limbs stretched out, but still close.

“Put him on then,” Sam said lightly, not letting his stress show in his voice.

“Don’t be alarmed if he’s…wonky. He’s pretty drugged up,” Natasha cautioned. “Stark had to develop something really strong. As it is, we’re not sure if it’s actually keeping him out of pain.”

They could hear some sort of exchange in the background, before Steve spoke.

“Sam?”

He smiled instinctively. “Steve. Hey.”

“Hi, Sam!” Steve greeted happily.

“How you feeling?” he asked. Next to him, Bucky was completely censored in on the phone, unused to hearing his best friends voice, after so much time.

“It hurts,” he laughs. “But my head feels good.”

“Did you hit your head?” Sam asked.

“Nope. My head always hurts.” Steve replied.

Sam paused. “Why?”

“Cause I think so much. I think and think and think and my head feels like its gonna explode. But I feel good now. My head does. I feel floaty.”

If anything, this only increases Sam’s worry.

“I feel better though,” Steve continues. “Cause I get to talk to you.”

“That’s nice, Steve I like talking to you too. I’m glad I get to talk to you too.”

“Cause I love you,” Steve added.

Sam froze, laughing awkwardly. “What, Steve?”

Next to him, Bucky was impassive.

“Cause your my best friend,” Steve seemed to correct himself. “My partner.”

Like him and Bucky. But vastly different. The irony didn't escape him or Bucky, though he seemed to relax.

“I love you too, man. I’m not your side-kick though,” he joked.

“Never,” Steve said, very seriously. “I love all my friends. I love you, and Nat, and even Tony sometimes,” he laughs. “And I love Bucky.”

“I know you do, Steve. Bucky loves you too.”

“Does he?” Steve asks bitterly, mood flipping like a switch.

Thrown off balance, Sam struggles for an answer. “Of course. He’s loved you his whole life.”

“Then where is he?” Steve exclaims, brokenly.

After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “Sam,” Steve sighed, voice slightly tinny from a less than ideal connection. “Sometimes I feel like you're the only person I have in the world. The only person that really knows me.”

Bucky’s body tensed on the bed beside him, and Sam instinctively put a hand out to soothe.

“You’ve _got_ Bucky. He knows you better than anyone,” Sam pointed out, though Steve’s words sent a wave of warmth over him.

“If Bucky knew me, he'd know that I need him,” Steve bit out. “God, I need him. And you, Sam.”

Bucky was shaking now, the guilt clearly written in his face, and there was little Sam could do.

“Steve, hey, Steve?” he asked, to make sure he was listening. “You’ve gotta give him time. He’s been through hell. But something tells me he’ll be ready soon. Right?” he asked, aiming his question toward Bucky.

Bucky nodded beside him, and Sam relaxed a bit.

“I miss you, Steve.” he admitted. “Can I come see you? How long will you be out of commission?”

Sam can almost see Steve shaking his head. “No, Sam. I don’t want you worrin’ about me, spendin’ money on me. I’ll be up and about soon enough. Then you can.”

Inwardly, Sam smiles at the drug influenced accent reappearing in Steve’s voice. Bucky had held onto a lot more of it than Steve it seemed.

“I’m always worrying about you Steve.” Sam says quietly, Bucky beside him, nodding in agreement.

“You sound like you’ve been spendin’ time with Buck,” Steve jokes.

Sam laughs, but it doesn’t come out quite right.

“He’d like you a lot. Always could see the best in people. Always could find the ones that shine the brightest,” Steve said.

“Like you.” Sam replies.

“Like you!” Steve laughs.

They talk a while longer, but eventually Nat takes the phone back. Sam promises to call again tomorrow.

For the next couple of days, they talk constantly. Steve’s lucid, and in less pain. With every conversation, Sam misses Steve even more, and makes it known. What Steve said about his head the other day had him worried. But more than that, he missed Steve’s presence.

*

Steve Rogers dragged a piece of luggage up the familiar walkway to Sam’s house. He winced inwardly when it pulled at a couple of still healing wounds in his abdomen.

He’d left the hospital against medical advice, but he couldn't stand that place. In his day, the hospital was where people go to die, not to be healed. And without Sam there, it was almost unbearable.

Nat had raised her eyebrow suggestively when he'd explained where he was going.

“Escaping, you mean.” She’d said.

Natasha was the only one who new about his slight…crush on Sam. It was hard not to be attracted to the guy. And he was, like a moth to a flame.

Steve dug the key to Sam’s house out of his pocket, smiling at the memory of Sam giving it to him.

He unlocked the door, and was greeted with an instant feeling of warmth. Steve was happy to be back.

“Sam?” he called out, to no response. He could hear music coming from the kitchen.

Steve put his bags down by the door, carefully, and walked toward the sound.

He ducked his head into the kitchen, and froze.

Sam was over by the sink, elbow deep in a pile of dishes. He seemed to be struggling though, because his best friend Bucky Barnes was wrapped around him like an octopus, kissing his neck and laughing, swaying their bodies softy to music despite Sam’s annoyance.

Sam looked back at Bucky, an exasperated grin on his face. Then, he noticed Steve in the doorway, and his smile fell from his face. Instantly, Bucky noticed his mood change, tuned in to his mood just like he used to be to him.

“I’m sorry - I, uh didn't mean to interrupt,” Steve said weakly, backing out of the kitchen quickly, crying out when he bumped a wound against the doorframe.

“Steve,” Bucky exclaimed.

And Sam knew in that moment, that he’d lost him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the steel blue eyes thing from Mackie. Bless his adorable crush on Seb. Lemme know your thoughts below!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve reunite. Sam and Bucky have sex. Steve listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH. It's been nearly a month since I've updated?? Gosh, I've been a bad girl. Life is crazy busy right now, prom is next week, getting ready to graduate. But I would never forget about y'all. ALSO WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK OF CIVIL WAR??? I loved it. Message me on Tumblr @ zoe-tropee so we can fangirl.
> 
> Warning for unconsensual voyeurism! yay!!

For several beats, there was nothing between them but silence.

Sam didn't know where to look. At Bucky, who was completely floored at the sudden reappearance of his best friend.

Or at Steve. Steve, who’s presence usually took up a space. But right now, Steve seemed to be shrinking.

Another moment, and Sam, ever the counselor decided to speak. But he wasn't God. Sam took an out. “I’ll let the two of you guys catch up for a bit, and warm up some dinner for us.” They’d just eaten an hour or two ago, but Sam knew Bucky could most likely eat again.

“Sam,” Steve speaks quietly, before he can back out of the room. “I’ve missed you.” He steps forward hopefully.

Sam grins at Steve, and that’s all the encouragement Steve needs, before surging forward and wrapping Sam in a big hug.

He hugs Steve back just as tight. When they pull away, Bucky is watching them calculatingly, though he changes his facial expression just as Steve looks his way.

Bucky and Steve look at each other. Just take each other in. There’s so much emotion, as they gaze at each other. It’s almost stifling. Sam looks away to let them have their moment.

“You’re real,” Steve said, though it sounded like more of a question.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, speaking for the first time.

Steve laughed in response, and its a dark thing. “For a few days there, after the Potomac,” he shrugged. “I wasn't sure if I hallucinated the whole thing.”

Bucky steps toward him. “I’m real. I’m here Stevie. I promise.”

Steve smiles, but its a watery one. He clasped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. But Bucky shakes his head.

“None of that shit.” He pulls Steve into a tight embrace.

Immediately, Steve’s body relaxed in Bucky’s hold. His head is buried in his shoulder, and he almost seems to shrink in Bucky’s presence. Bucky holds him tightly, shouldering some of Steve’s weight.

“I’m here, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m here and I’m never gonna leave again. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you Steve. I’ve got you, I swear it.”

Sam retreats to the kitchen quietly. He tosses some lasagna into the oven, Bucky claimed it was the best comfort food. And it seemed like that was what they needed, tonight.

He sat down at the counter to watch the timer on the stove. Behind him, he could still hear Bucky’s voice. Even though the words and emotions weren't meant for him, Sam let the sound wash over him.

“Sam?” Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Trying to burn the house down, huh?”

He opened his eyes. Bucky was above him, a little smile on his face. But he also looked concerned. “You alright?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sorry guys.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Has he been tiring you out, Sam? Bucky never let me get any sleep.”

Over by the stove is Steve, once again looking right at home in Sam’s kitchen, oven mitts and all. Bucky must have calmed him down, because he looked relaxed. And happier than he did the last time Sam had seen him.

Bucky laughs and even Sam has to chuckle. “Trust me, I put him right to sleep. Isn't that right, Sam?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve sputters. “He snores!” With the mention of their relationship, Steve seemed to tense up.

Sam frowned at that. Did he not approve? But he shook those thoughts out of his mind.

“No he doesn’t.” Sam looks over at Bucky. “You don’t snore.”

“He does.” Steve’s face is a mask of confusion. “I shared a room with you. And then a tent.”

Bucky shrugs. “Well I don’t anymore,” he said easily. “Maybe HYDRA beat it out of me.”

Steve freezes.

"Buck," Sam chastises quickly. He turns to Steve. "I keep telling him not to make those jokes around other people."

"I've never been 'other people' before. With either of you," Steve says lightly, looking anywhere and everywhere but at them.

"Steve I - that's not what I met," Sam corrected quickly. But it was already out there.

He smiles at them, but it's the kind that Sam could recognize as fake. Steve was uncomfortable. "I know," Steve says.

But Bucky shoots him a look, and Sam knows that even after seventy years of separation, Bucky could still read his friend like a book.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Steve. But I don't think I snore. Not anymore."

Steve shrugs, making plates for the three of them. "Things change. For everyone."

"I'm still yours," Bucky says, almost desperately. "Your best friend. If you'll have me. I - I know I don't deserve it. You. Or Sam or," he gestures around the house. "Any of this. I'm damn lucky."

Steve chuckles, looking at Bucky like he was the sun, placing a plate in front of him. "Buck. You never stopped being my best friend."

He doesn't say anything, simply smiles into his plate as he tucked into his lasagna. Steve sits beside Sam, a matching smile on his face.

Sam doesn't feel all that hungry, anymore.

He excuses himself quickly, claiming a headache. The lie is not far off. The amount of things circulating in Sam's head are contributing to an ache in his temple.

Sam lays down in his bed, their bed. It smells kind of like Bucky, maybe a mashup of their combined scents. He can't resist pressing his face to Bucky's pillow for a moment, before rolling over to his side of the bed, pulling the comforter up and around him.

It's not that he's jealous. He's not. He loves Steve and Bucky and wants them to be happy more than anything. Surely, the only way they could be happy was if they were happy together?

Riley used to joke that Sam was a martyr. He'd always disagreed, believing fully in self preservation. But now, maybe he could see it.

Because he loved Bucky. God, did Sam love Bucky. And he’d known that he would have to give him up. But who knew it would be this soon?

Sam tried his hardest not to think about it anymore, shutting his eyes. He could hear voices from the living room, guiding him into an uneasy sleep. Both Steve and Bucky followed Sam into his dreams, not for the first time.

*  
"My heads been killing me all day," Sam apologized, slowly backing out of the room. Bucky watches the concern spread across Steve's face. Bucky also watches the way Steve admires Sam's backside.

"I hope he's alright," Steve says, turning toward Bucky again.

"He works too hard," Bucky said simply.

Steve snorts. "And I bet dating you is a second job."

For a moment, Bucky doesn't say anything. "You little shit."

Steve grins at him, and for a second, Bucky is back in their shoebox Brooklyn apartment.

"Whatever jerk."

"You're a punk, Steve. A fuckin' punk." Bucky shakes his head, amusement coloring his features.

“You’ve always been one of the few to think that, Buck.”

He snorts. “That’s because your tiny ass was the picture of innocence. You could get away with murder. And now? Cap could do no wrong.”

“I can,” Steve says. “I have - I - I’m human just like everybody else.” He smiles ruefully. “I might be Captain America, but Captain America isn't me. You know what I mean?”

Bucky nods. He does. God, he does.

Steve smiles then, and it’s a real one. “No one seems to. You do, and then I met Sam.” A different kind of smile spreads across his face, and Bucky _knows_.

“He’s a great guy,” Steve continues. “I’m glad you guys found each other.”

Bucky can’t imagine many other people would pick up on it, but Bucky had known Steve his whole life. Before he knew himself. He watched Steve’s face, and it was as clear as the day. He was jealous.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me when I became a fairy? I mean, gay?” Bucky asked curiously. He'd never looked at guys back in the day. Not like he knew Steve did.

Steve chuckles, playing along. “Sure Buck. You always…like guys?”

He shrugs. “I still don't know. I know I love Sam though. What about you?”

“What do I…like?” Steve asks hesitantly. Bucky nods.

“I like people.” Steve says simply, looking down at his lap. “Always have.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?” It bursts out of Bucky unexpectedly, word vomit that he can’t swallow down. “I thought I knew but I was just waiting, waiting on you to tell me, Stevie. Why didn't you trust me?”

“Bucky, I trust you with my life. Always have. But you remember what it was like then. It wasn't great to be gay.” Steve says.

“It wasn't great for nobody. I wouldn’t have cared. I’d have kept your secret.”

Steve smiled ruefully at his lap. “I know, Buck. I know.”

Eventually, they moved the sofa in the living room. It was just like old-times, except for the television in front of them and the glasses of beer that had the same effect on them as water.

Just like old-times, except it was 2016 and not 1945. They were both juiced up supersoldiers. Like old-times, except Steve was bi-sexual and Bucky was Sam-sexual.

Bucky was different now, undoubtably. But so was Steve. So were they. But at least they had each other, again.

It was more than he'd ever could've hoped for.

*

Sam awoke with a start as Bucky tried to softly climb into bed with him. Bucky’s body was curved above his, and the moonlight from their bedroom window illuminated his face just enough that Sam could read his expression.

“It’s ok,” Sam said, before Bucky could apologize. “Stay,” he said, as Bucky began to move off of him.

“Bad dream?” Bucky asked quietly, reading him like a book.

“Something like that,” Sam replied.

In his dream, Sam was trying to catch him. Bucky. He was falling, Sam was flying. And he caught him. But upon closer inspection, it wasn't Bucky. It was Steve. Bucky was already gone.

“How’s Steve?”

Bucky smiled against his skin, head on Sam’s shoulder. “Good. Great. We caught up a bit. He’s probably asleep already.”

Sam ran his hands up and down Bucky’s back, soothing himself more than anything.  
”I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to Sam’s lips. “It’s all because of you. You’re the only reason that I was able to get through tonight. I love you.”

Sam smiled despite the whirlwind of emotions in is head. “And I love you.”

They kissed until their lips were bruised, touching and touching. Clothes were shucked off in quick succession, until there was nothing between them but skin.

“Mine,” Bucky whispered his claim into Sam’s skin.

“Yours,” Sam gasped.

*

Steve had never felt like more of a creep.

He’d tried everything, blankets - even a pillow over his head. But nothing could stifle the noise, the sounds, coming from the room next to his.

Even without his enhanced hearing, Steve would still be able to hear them. But with it? It was like free audio porn. That Steve hadn't signed up for.

Steve hadn't signed up for any of this. The surprise of seeing Bucky - the adrenaline had yet to dissipate. He was high off of their reconnection. And so, so happy. But he hadn't been expecting it.

Steve had come home to Sam. To finally ask him out.

But he'd been gone too long, waited too long. Sam was too good for him - or at least that’s what Steve told himself. And he was. But that didn't mean Steve wanted to let him get away.

But he'd had. Steve waited far too long, and now he was with Bucky. His best friend.

And it hurt. But Steve could deal with the hurt. But what he couldn't deal with was his untimely erection.

Steve was listening to his two closest friends in the universe have sex.

He tried to think of anything else - baseball, HYDRA, the fact that the Dodgers moved to L.A. But nothing could quell his dicks interest in the moans escaping his friends.

His blindly attractive friends.

This wasn't the first time he'd listened Bucky have sex, fucking his fist all the while. Steve had never known for certain if Bucky had put on a show when he knew Steve was listening. But the dames always left with an extra spring in their steps afterwards, and Bucky would smile like the cat that got cream, glancing at Steve knowingly.

And Steve felt so dirty. It was wrong. But it didn't take any imagination, to imagine what Bucky and Sam were doing next door.

Sam was bottomming, judging by the pretty sounds he was making. The headboard was smacking against the wall, Bucky groaning loudly.

Unable to fight it anymore, Steve slipped a hand into his pajama pants, heart racing. The shame was just as much as a turn on as it had been 70 years ago, heat coursing through his body. He gripped himself tightly, moving fast, letting small sounds escape his lips. Those sounds blended in with the noises from next door, and Steve could almost imagine that he was in there with them.

That thought was what had Steve coming with a small shout, though it most likely went unnoticed by Sam and Bucky as they took their own pleasure.

Self hatred coursed through Steve as the come dried on his skin. He stared up at the blank ceiling of the guest room. He was alone. Steve was in a cold bed by himself. And he only wanted to be with them.

With Sam and Bucky.

Steve was fucked.

*  
Sam was asleep in their bed, Steve in the guest room. But Bucky was out on the back porch. The house was filled with too much energy right now.

All he wanted to do was breathe.

Bucky was thrilled that Steve was back. Still nervous as hell, but at the same time, elated. But Bucky had seen the way Steve looked at Sam. He’d always been able to notice when Steve had a crush, and after all these years, he still hadn't changed a bit. He was gone for Sam.

He hadn't known Steve was going to listen in on them. In fact, Bucky hadn't even remembered that being a thing they did - Bucky having sex and Steve listening in. He hadn't remembered it until he was already balls deep in Sam, and had noticed someone else panting.

The memory had nearly thrown Bucky off balance, but luckily, Sam hadn't noticed. Back in Brooklyn, this was no big deal. But Bucky loved Sam, and apparently, Steve wanted Sam too.

He loved Steve. Bucky loves Steve in every sense of the word. But Sam is his.

And Bucky didn't have a problem making it known. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts belowwww :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a cuddle pile is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 200+ comments, 300+ kudos, 5000+ hits. I kinda love you guys. 
> 
> I'm not gonna make too many excuses for my absence but it has something to do with graduating high school(yay!) and the buttload of prompts I've got on heckyeahwinterpanther(yay? yay). I won't leave ya'll behind tho.
> 
> Happy early birthday to Steve Rogers! :)) I hope that in another universe he'll be getting a lot of loving from Sam and Bucky ;)
> 
> Enjoy, leave me thoughts! They fuel me.

“Buck,” Sam whispered, shaking Bucky’s body gently, running a hand through his hair, kissing his eyelids. Too violent of a wakeup could make their day much less cheery.

“Hmm?” He moaned, and instead of getting off of Sam like he'd wanted, Bucky rolled completely on top of Sam, punching the air out of his chest. 

Sam rolled his eyes, unsure as to why he was even still surprised by Bucky’s actions. “Oof,” he complained. 

“Are you callin’ me fat?” Bucky mumbled, eyes still closed, snuggling deeper into Sam’s body, like crushing him was this mornings goal. 

“If the shoe fits,” Sam snarks. “Those PopTarts are going  _ somewhere _ .”

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky comments, but doesn’t seem all too bothered, beginning to press kisses to Sam’s throat.

Now, Sam’s the one moaning. “I’m kidding right - you know that?”

Bucky pouts, and its the one that means he’s faking. He’s got a tell - his lip curls up just the slightest. It always makes Sam smile. 

“My feelings are kinda hurt,” Bucky frowns slightly. “I think you’ll have to make it up to me.”

Sam squeezes his ass, showing his appreciation. “Sorry, Buck. That doesn't work on me anymore,” he singsongs. “Besides, your body is amazing.”

Bucky leans into Sam’s touches. “Really? I think you’ll have to prove it to me.”

Now fully awake, Sam gathers his strength and flips Bucky over so he’s on top. “Now how would I go about doing that?”

Under him, Bucky grins. “Well you can start by -“

“Morning guys, there’s breakfast on the counter - oh, uh sorry.” It’s Steve peeking his head into their room, looking all too sheepish for someone who hadn't really walked in on anything. 

But Bucky tightens his hold around Sam’s waist like he feels threatened, or that Sam is. He runs a soothing hand down Bucky’s sides, because he doesn’t blame him.

“It’s just Steve,” he calms. “He surprised me too.” Sam knows Steve can probably hear him, and wonders what he thinks about his new friend being there like this for his oldest. It must be a little disconcerting. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve’s footsteps disappear, and only then does Bucky’s grip on him relax. 

“You alright?” Sam asks casually. He knows Bucky hates how he checks in, but its in his nature. 

Bucky nods. “And I knew that was Steve, by the way.”

“How?” Sam presses a kiss to Bucky’s chin, bringing his smile back. 

He shrugs. “His footsteps haven't changed. Even before the serum he had big feet. With the extra height and weight his gait changed a bit, but not much. He walks the same now as he did in the forties.”

“Trust me,” Bucky continues, “I wouldn't have let anyone uninvited inside this house. They’d be dead before they even knew what happened.” 

“As weirdly hot is that is, most people generally find murder unacceptable.” 

Bucky snorts. “Uh, I read the constitution and shit. Killing intruders  _ is _ legal.” 

Sam snorts. “Of course that’s what you’d read. Why didn't you check out some immigration laws or something?”

Bucky looks affronted. “i  _ did _ .”

“Course you did.” Sam rolls his eyes. 

“What?” Bucky exclaims. “Can I do nothing right?”

“I’m just utterly impressed by my intelligent, gorgeous boyfriend.” Sam presses a kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

He chuckles. “Oh doll. Are you tryin’ to get in my pants?”

Sam hesitates playfully. “Actually. Yes. I think I’m supposed to be ravishing your body or something, right?”

“Exactly.” 

They kiss lazily for a few moments, before Sam begins whispering into his ear. 

“I’m gonna touch every part of your body, baby. With my tongue,” Sam breathes, watching Bucky shiver. “And then I’m gonna fuck you. It’s gonna be so good. I’m going to make it so good for you, Buck. I just need you to do one thing.”

Eyes wide, hands searching, Bucky asks what. “What, Sam?”

Sam smiles against his skin. “You know that red henley you always wear?” Bucky nods. “The one that shows everything? Your arms, your abs. Your nipples when its cold.”

To prove his point, Sam dunks down and licks at his chest. Bucky gasps. 

“I want you to wear it,” Sam says slowly. “While I fuck you.”

“Yes,” Bucky moans. “I can, I’ll - “

Sam puts out a hand to stop him. “Stop baby. After breakfast!”

He crawls off of a stunned, horny Bucky, who looks at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Sam teases, a little bothered himself. 

“You’re a kinky bastard.” 

Sam throws his pout back at him. “Aw, baby. Come on, I think Steve made pancakes.”

“Sure,” Bucky calls, as Sam exits the bedroom. “After I adjust my dick!”

*

In between sultry glances at Sam, Bucky pouts his way through breakfast while Steve talks smack about the waffle maker shaped like his shield, all the while shoving more food on both Sam and Bucky’s plates. 

It’s strange that this is Sam’s life. 

“Thanks for breakfast, Stevie,” Bucky comments. “Sleep well last night?”

Steve chokes on his sip of orange juice and Sam pats him gently on the back, which only makes Steve blush harder. 

“You alright?” Sam asks concernedly, missing Bucky’s wicked look. 

Steve smiles weakly. “I slept fine. Like a log. Wanna go for a run, Sam?”

This time, Sam’s the one smiling like a sap. “Yeah, Steve. I -“

“Have other obligations,” Bucky finishes smoothly. “Right?”

He rolls his eyes, but Sam is not easily flustered by Bucky’s shenanigans. “Like what, kicking your ass?”

“Kissing it, perhaps.” Bucky supplies. 

Sam wouldn't have thought it possible, but somehow, Steve’s face gets even redder. “Well I’ll leave you guys to it.” Steve drops his plate in the sink, and with one last awkward smile, makes himself scarce. 

Sam glares at his idiot boyfriend to let him know that he is not happy. “What was that all about? You scared Steve right out of the house.”

He rolls his eyes, but Bucky can’t keep the grin off of his face. “Steve’s just mad cause he’s not gettin’ none.”

“Shouldn’t you two be trying to get to know one another again?” 

Bucky frowns. “I know Steve. I’m different now, and so is he. But the core things that make Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers? Those are still the same.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Sam asks curiously. He didn't want to press. But if talking could get Bucky and Steve closer on the path they were before, then he'd try it.

“ _ I’m _ not,” Bucky says, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “But I don’t want him to know it.”

“Come here,” Sam suggests, and Bucky moves over to sit on top of Sam, like he isn’t a grown ass man. “Steve loves you,” Sam says. He is thankful that Bucky can’t see his face, because it may betray him. 

“He’ll love you no matter who you choose to be. Besides, who says you're all that different?” Sam wonders aloud. “I’ve heard enough stories from Steve to know who you are.”

Bucky shifts in Sam’s hold, resting his head against Sam’s shoulder. 

“Bucky Barnes is brave, kind and impossibly strong. He’s always got a good joke, always offers a helping hand. He’s a joy to be around. But guess what? These are things I’ve learned not only because Steve told me so, but because I know you. You’ve had a lot of shit happen to you and you deserve to be whoever you want to be. The thing is, the man you are hasn’t changed one bit.”

Bucky goes quiet for a bit, and Sam listens to him breathe. “Can we watch a movie?” he eventually asks. 

Sam can think of nothing better, and the two of them shuffle over to the sofa. Bucky hands Sam the remote, and he selects an old episode of Star Trek that they’ve both already seen. 

What they watch doesn’t matter much anyway. 

“If you just wanted to cuddle, you could’ve told me,” Sam teases. 

“I love you, Sam.” Bucky says. “And thank you. Even if I had a hundred more lifetimes I will never be able to thank you enough.”

“What for?” Sam asks.

“For saving my life.” Bucky looks down at his hands. “You save me everyday that I get to wake up next to you.”

Sam smiles. “I love you too, Buck.”

When Steve arrives home from his run, he finds a sleeping Bucky and a dozing Sam, who wakes when Steve’s key turns in the lock.

Steve goes to apologize, but Sam simply shakes his head, welcoming him over. He sits, on Sam’s left, and tries to ignore the warmth that fills his chest from being so close to Sam and Bucky. 

It doesn’t work.

*

The cuddle pile thing doesn’t go away. You’d think it would get weird, but it never does - which probably says more about how they feel about each other than anything else. 

‘Let’s watch a movie’ becomes their code for when someone needs cuddle time. They watch the film until one by one they drift off into sleep, sprawling bodies and long limbs on a too small sofa.

Sam doesn’t mind. He’s just glad that Bucky is almost back to normal. The possessiveness has tempered down to an acceptable level. Bucky still marks up Sam’s neck like it’s his job, in the places his collar doesn’t hide. He keeps a hand on the small of Sam’s back even when the only other person in sight is Steve. 

It amuses Sam to no end, especially when Bucky’s the one that’s going to end up leaving him. 

But the best part of the cuddle pile, by far, is that it gets Bucky and Steve talking. Sam’s presence, even when he’s gloriously passed out against Bucky’s side, seems to act as a mediator.

They're smiling, laughing together. Easier. 

They make plans. To go on trips, to travel to farmer's markets and summer fairs. Concerts and movies. They include Sam in all of them. 

“You know, you guys don’t have to invite me every time you go out.” Sam mentions it over breakfast one day. 

Bucky’s just beginning to tuck into his stack of waffles when Sam says this, but he sets his fork down. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Sam shrugs. “You’re best friends. You can do stuff on your own.”

“I’ve got two best friends, Sam.”

He rolls his eyes, but Sam is touched as hell. He explores D.C. with them, but sometimes stays home after making his excuses.

Those times, Bucky stares him down like he knows exactly what Sam’s doing, and he probably does. 

For someone who jokes about being emotionally stunted, Bucky reads people astoundingly well. He wonders if Bucky was always like that, or if that was a skill he learned as the Soldier. 

Whether Sam’s with them or not, Steve and Bucky always seem to enjoy their outings. They bring back silly trinkets or gift store gag gifts. Food is Sam’s favorite gift, little boxes of dumplings, slices of pizza, still warm. Half-melted ice cream, or thick turkey burgers from that joint down the block.

The most exciting day, however, was when Bucky discovered Falcon merchandise. 

Bucky knew about all the Cap stuff, but he had no idea that Falcon had a fanbase.

"What is all this?” Sam asked calmly, eyeing the full Target bags.

“Sam,” Bucky whispered. “It’s stuff.  _ With your face on it _ .”

“Steve? Why’d you let him?” 

“He picked out half of this shit!” Bucky yelled, and Steve’s red ears betrayed him. 

Sam hates both of them, but on that day, they opened every last Falcon toy and laughed over them like three kids on Christmas morning. 

The stuff was supposed to be gathering dust in a box downstairs, but Sam had a sneaking suspicion that Bucky was slowly auctioning off the items on Ebay. The amount of cookies in the cabinet does not correlate to Bucky’s Cookie Budget. 

Thankfully, today it was just food. 

“Chicken and waffles?” Sam is pleasantly surprised when he opens his takeout container. “This is from one of my favorite places in D.C.”

Steve and Bucky just smile, and Sam is instantly suspicious. 

“How’d you know?” 

Bucky shrugs. “I talked to your mom a couple weeks ago.” 

“You didn’t,” Sam laughs. “I bet she was happy.”

Bucky’s tucks his hair behind his ear, shifting like he sometimes does when he’s embarrassed. “You were asleep!”

“I’m not mad, silly. I’m touched. Really. We’ve got to eat now before it's cold. Seriously.”

Everyone laughs and they settle down to eat dinner. Bucky and Steve enjoy the food nearly as much as Sam, and Sam goes to bed happy and warm and full and loved. 

Sam drifts off in Bucky’s hold, and the significance of the next day escapes him.

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a bad day. It gets worse. Bucky and Steve have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update, aye! hope you guys enjoy!!! let me know :)

Sam dreams of Riley. 

A common occurrence, but this dream is different. 

No war or guns or life-ending blasts. No screams of retribution, no blood. No death.

In his dream, Riley sits at the island in Sam’s kitchen. He’s drinking tea, the flowery kind his family always sent in care packages, the kind that Sam gave him hell for drinking. He’s telling a story in the animated way of his, moving his hands, changing his facial expression. Laughing.

Sam hasn’t heard that laugh in years. He knows he’s dreaming, but everything feels so real. Sam can smell Riley’s tea, can feel warmth spread through his body as Riley looks at him.

“I’m so happy Sam,” he says, grinning.   


“Me too,” Sam whispers. “About what?”

“You,” Riley simply says. “That you’re happy. You are, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers eventually. 

Riley cocks his head to the side, and the motion is so  _ Riley _ that it makes Sam’s head hurt. “You hesitated,” he observes. “That means there’s something more you can do. To get to that happy place.”

“I can’t bring you back,” Sam jokes, but it falls flat. 

Riley shakes his head sadly. “No.” He stands up and crosses the kitchen to where Sam stands, wrapping his arms around his body.

Sam can’t remember the last time he hugged his best friend. Riley’s hair tickles his cheek and Sam sighs, breathing him in.

“I love you, Sam,” Riley says teasingly. But his eyes are honest. 

Riley laughs again and Sam hopes he never forgets the sound. 

*

Sam awakes with a gasp. 

_ Riley.  _ It was like he was just there. Like he dropped in for a quick visit in Sam’s kitchen like he always did when they were on leave. 

He never dreamed about Riley like this. The real Riley. This was so much worse. 

Sam was in bed alone. Bucky’s side of the bed was cool to the touch and Sam was thankful. He didn’t want Bucky to see him like this. 

Even before he’d began working down at the V.A., Sam had always been big on getting others to talk about their feelings. He was a fighter, yes. But he’d always been a mediator too. Funnily enough, Sam’s talk it out logic didn’t really apply to himself. 

He kept it in. Sam was a very open person. But he liked to keep the things that hurt him the most close to his chest. Because if he let them out, Sam didn’t know if he’d stop screaming. That’s why he tried not to think about Riley. He crossed Sam’s mind often, at work or when he’d spot a blond head in the crowd. 

But Sam didn’t think about  _ Riley _ . He didn’t think about those same tired old jokes he’d been telling Sam for years, just because he knew they’d make him laugh. Sam didn’t think about lying under the open desert sky, listening to Riley pick out stars and constellations. He doesn’t think about that time Riley came to his momma's place and nearly ate them out of house and home. Jody had only been a baby when Riley met her, tiny and warm and cuddly. He’d been enamored with his niece, and it made Sam’s heart warm to see him play with her. 

Sam didn’t think about Riley. But today, he did. 

It was the anniversary of Riley’s death. 

That’s the only reason Sam allowed himself to cry silently, angrily wiping tears from his eyes. He did this every year, and every year he felt like an idiot. Riley was dead and a little bit of Sam still blamed himself.

There was nothing he could do, he was up there just to watch. But there were so many what ifs, should’ve could’ves.

Sam missed his best friend. He wondered if he closed his eyes if he could manage to get anymore sleep. Technically, he’d slept longer than usual, but he felt exhausted, like he’d been running laps in his dreams.

He’s on the edge of drifting off when the door to his bedroom creaks open. “Sam?”

“Buck headed to the farmers market but I made brunch if you’re up,” Steve whispers, and Sam inwardly rolls his eyes before clearing his throat and responding. 

“Yeah, I'll uh, be down soon.”

Steve steps further into Sam’s bedroom and his heart sinks. He’d been less convincing than he’d thought. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, and in a moment he’s beside Sam’s bed.

“I’m fine,” Sam lies, though he knows there’s no point, not really. 

“You’ve been crying,” Steve observes. “You’re still crying.”

He is? Sam touches his face and realizes Steve is right. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “No need to apologize on my account. Can I sit?”

Sam nods and scoots over on his bed, pulling down a bit of his blanket cocoon and sitting up against the headboard, legs crossed. 

“Now are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, Sam? I hope you know you can tell me anything.” Steve chuckles. “You never judged me for anything I’ve told you and I sure as hell won’t judge you either.” 

He sighs. “I know, Steve.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. Sam rests his head on the cool wall behind him and listens to Steve breathe before he decides to try to talk. 

“Remember my wingman Riley? He died today. I know it’s silly but I kind of take the day every year to think about him.” Sam smiles weakly. “It doesn’t always go so well.”

“Shit, Sam,” Steve curses. “Tell me about him?” 

Sam hesitates, but he doesn't see why not. “Yeah, sure.”

He regales Steve with stories of his best friend. He laughs, and cries too, in stops and starts. Somewhere down the line, Steve takes Sam’s hand in his own, and Sam can’t find it in himself to mind. 

Steve’s hearing about the time Riley and Sam once got lost on the way back from a bar overseas when Bucky enters the house again. 

He’s all smiles when he cracks open the door to their room, but his mood changes quickly when he finds Steve in his bed with Sam, their hands clasped tightly together. 

Bucky feels a hot rush of anger and sharp hurt. Because Sam is his. But he should've known that Sam would wise up eventually. He’d never been good enough for Sam, but he selfishly wanted him anyway. Somehow, he’d gotten him. 

But with perfect, pretty Steve around, Sam had apparently come to his senses. 

Then he notices the tear tracks on Sam’s face. 

“What’s going on?” he asks casually. To his surprise, Sam and Steve don’t immediately spring apart from one another, and that makes it that much worse.

“Bucky,” Sam gasps, smiling weakly. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Ignoring Steve, Bucky approaches the bed quickly, straddling Sam and cupping his face in a gentle metal hand. 

“Bucky I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Sam whispers, wiping at his face. 

“See you like what?” Bucky asks incredulously. “Sam you’ve seen me through it all. Besides, I love you, you’re my - you’re mine,” he corrects. “All I want is to be there for you.”

He presses kiss after kiss to Sam’s face until the tears are almost gone and there’s a hint of a smile on Sam’s face. Steve makes himself scarce, and Bucky relaxes against Sam’s chest.

“Baby are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Bucky asks gently, not wanting to push. Sam had taught him many things during the course of their relationship. One of those things was when to listen and when to push. Right now it was listening time. 

Sam hesitates, but shakes his head. He looks to where Steve was just sitting. “I’m done talking for now. I just want you to hold me, if that’s ok.”

Bucky smiles, rearranging himself to be the big spoon. “Always, baby.” He wraps both arms around Sam who curls closer into him, huffing out a laugh.

“I can’t believe I’m still tired,” he mumbles.

“Emotions can be very draining. Trust me. I’ve read that in a couple of your books, too.”

Sam smiles into Bucky’s shirt. “Smartie pants.” 

“Hmm, I wonder who I picked that quality up from.” Bucky kisses the top of Sam’s head. “Let me know if you need anything, alright doll?”

Sam hesitates before speaking. “Could you hold me? Tighter I mean?”

“Like this?” Bucky asks. 

“Tighter?” Sam whispers. Bucky complies easily enough and Sam sighs with delight, sinking into his warmth. “It grounds me. You ground me, Buck.”

Bucky snorts. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual.” 

He holds Sam and rubs his back and whispers into his ear until Sam’s breathing evens out. Even then, he holds him a little longer, just to feel Sam’s breath against his neck, his heart beating against his.

* 

Bucky eventually detangles himself from Sam, but not before covering him in copious amounts of covers. Sam got cold in his sleep.

Outside their room, Steve’s in the kitchen. He’s humming along to some music playing through the kitchen speakers; something soft, vaguely sad and a little dreamy. Steve turns it down when Bucky enters the room, grabbing a glass of water. 

“Lasagna,” Bucky comments when he sees what Steve’s putting into the oven. 

Steve pulls his ovens mitts off, nodding. “Yeah, it’s Sam’s comfort food.” 

“I didn't know that.” Bucky feels an intense flare of jealousy light up insides, but he quickly changes the subject. “So, what happened earlier?”

Steve hesitates, obviously uncomfortable. “Sam didn’t tell you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. He was tired. Of talking and just physically exhausted.” 

“I think you should wait and ask him,” Steve suggests, busying himself with cleaning the kitchen. 

Without a second thought, Bucky joins him. “Maybe. But if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, then he shouldn’t have to. It would be easier if I just already knew, you know?”

“Maybe,” Steve says. “But I think you should wait. I want to respect his privacy, Buck.”

Bucky snorts. “Respect his privacy? Steve, he’s my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

“Oh I know. You made that clear when you jumped him a couple hours ago.”

Bucky feels like his world has turned on its axis. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. “Jumped him? I was just trying to make sure he was okay.” He doesn't notice his voice rising. “Don’t act like you understand the dynamics of our relationship.”

“You act like an animal. You treat Sam like he’s something to possess. I know you’ve been through it, Bucky but - “ Bucky cuts him off.

“Maybe that’s what Sam needs, asshole,” Bucky grits out. “Maybe that’s what we both need from each other. You don’t know everything about me. Or even about Sam.” 

“Bucky - “

“Don’t,” Bucky says. “Just because you're in love with Sam doesn't give you the right to advocate for him while he’s in a relationship with me.”

Steve looks like he’s just been backhanded across the face. “I - Bucky, I’m so sorry. I know he’s yours, but I still care about him. Hell, I care about you. You know that. But Bucky. He’s my friend. I’ll always advocate for him.”

Bucky steps closer. “Fine. But I don’t know if I can stand here and listen to you shit all over a relationship you barely even understand. You just got here Steve.”

“I would’ve been here a lot sooner, Buck.” Steve says quietly. “If you’d let me. But you weren’t ready.”

“Low blow, Stevie. I wasn’t. I wasn’t fucking ready. Without Sam, who knows when I would’ve been.”

Steve puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Quiet down, Buck.” 

“Make me,” Bucky almost growls. 

Before he can squeak, Bucky is being pulled shirt first all the way into Steve’s arms. For a moment, they just breathe in sync, staring into one another's eyes. Steve tilts his head to kiss Bucky’s lips and he cannot find it in himself to pull away. 

Steve’s lips are softer than expected and taste suspiciously like Bucky’s coffee. His irritation is quickly forgotten when Steve’s tongue begins to press softly against his. Bucky pushes Steve into the counter roughly, and Steve lets out a little whine high in his throat like he’s being punched. The sound sends a bright flash of arousal up his spine, and Bucky can feel Steve hard against his hip, just from a bit of kissing. 

When it gets difficult to breathe, Bucky and Steve pull away from each other slowly, still tangled up in one another. 

“They’re even bigger than they look,” Bucky finally manages when his brain goes back online. 

“What?” Steve asks amusedly. 

“Your arms.” 

Steve laughs. “Guess that’s the - “ 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, noticing the way Steve’s face falls. He turns around slowly in Steve’s arms. 

Sam.

“Sam,” Steve says desperately. “This isn’t what it looks like.” 

Bucky jumps away from Steve, going toward Sam quickly, but Sam flinches away from him. Bucky stops in his tracks, and he can hear roaring in his ears like a wave just crashed down on top of him. 

Sam smiles weakly, slipping on his sneakers. Bucky notices that Sam is dressed in his workout clothes. “It’s fine, guys. I...I knew it was going to happen eventually. I just - I’m going for a quick run.”

“Knew what was going to happen?” Bucky asks weakly. 

“That you guys would fall for each other. I’ll see you guys later.” Sam swiftly and quietly exits the house before Steve or Bucky can get another word in. 

Without him, the house immediately feels colder, the timer on the oven going off and echoing in the silence. 

“What the fuck is he talking about?”

Bucky feels like he’s drowning. Every part of his being wants him to go after Sam. He’d chase Sam to the end of the goddamn earth to get him back. This wasn’t over. He’d fucked up, yes. But Sam was still his, if he wanted to be.

“Steve,” Bucky says irritatedly, flopping face forward down onto the sofa. “In what way was that  _ not _ what it looked like.”

“Shut up. You need to fix this. You’re the cheating asshole, not me,” Steve says petulantly. 

Bucky rolls his eyes even though Steve can’t see it. “No, your just Sam’s ex-best friend that made out with his boyfriend.” 

Steve sighs. “I thought loving you two from the outside was hard. I kind of want to go back.”

Bucky lifts his head. “What?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Steve was listening to Hozier. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. I have a comment kink.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cupcakes, negotiations, poptarts, strong talking to's from moms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter guys, hey! please enjoy and leave me some feedback!

“I love you,” Steve says, looking everywhere but at Bucky. “You know that. I’ve loved you since the first time you dragged me out of the alley.”

Bucky smiles despite the pain in his chest. “Weren't we six?”

“Probably.” Steve smiles too, before his face falls again. “But Sam is…”

“Everything,” Bucky finishes for him. 

“I love him,” Steve says, almost pleading for Bucky to understand. “I think a part of me loved Sam since the first time I saw him.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “Save that for him, Stevie. That may be the only way we get him back.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to say anything. I should probably apologize and head back to New York anyway.” Steve’s still by the island in the kitchen, and he pulls out his phone as if to search for flights. 

“Why Steve?” 

“Because,” Steve grits out. “Sam only has eyes for you. I don’t want to get between that anymore than I already have.”

“I don’t get how you two are so dense. You follow after Sam with this lovesick grin on your face, sneaking glances at his ass when he’s not looking.” Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “And Sam? He looks at you with stars in his eyes.”

Hesitation gone, Steve joins him on the sofa. His cheeks are tinted red, but there’s excitement in his eyes. “Really, Buck?”

“Yeah, Steve.” Before he can rethink the decision, Bucky wraps Steve’s hand in his. “But how the hell are we gonna fix this? I wish there was a solution.” 

Steve eyes their joined hands and sighs happily. Bucky knows what he’s thinking. They never could’ve had this before. It’s surreal. “There might be one, actually.” 

“What?” Bucky asks. 

“We could all be together,” Steve begins. “I love you and you love me and we both love Sam. Sam loves you, and you think Sam might love me too?”

Bucky nods. This is crazy. This is - so far removed from any reality Bucky could’ve ever imagined. “Do you think Sam would want that?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s worth a try.”

“I’ve gotta go after him.” Bucky jumps up from the sofa in search of his shoes. Initially, he’d wanted to give Sam space. But now? If there was even a small chance of a solution, then Sam needed to hear it. 

“You coming?” 

Steve hesitates, but declines. “No. I think...I think this is a conversation the two of you need to have first. I’ll be here. For when you get back.”

If, the traitorous voice in Bucky’s head says. Because if Sam didn’t want him anymore, Bucky couldn’t come back here. 

The weight of his anxiety sits in Bucky’s stomach like a ton of bricks, and Bucky can’t remember feeling fear so viscerally since he lay dying in the snow more than half a century ago.

“See ya, Steve,” Bucky says, and hopes that this isn’t the last time he stands in Sam’s foyer. 

*  
Sam runs until his legs feel like they’re going to give out. The first pinks and oranges of sunset are just starting to appear in the sky when he finally collapses in the grass and Sam thinks it’s a good time to take a break. 

At some point during his run, Sam began to cry again. Only now does he brush away the stray tears, begging himself not to cry again. 

“Hey mom,” he says into the phone, once he finally decides to call. 

“Sam? What’s wrong baby?”

He starts to laugh. “What do you mean, what’s wrong?”

“You never call me!”

“Mom, come on. I talked to you last week.”

“I called you, Samuel. You didn’t call me. Now are you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to make a trip to D.C.?”

Sam sighs. “I - I can’t really get into it in detail.” 

“Avengers stuff?” she says. A hint of disapproval sneaks into her tone and Sam rolls his eyes. Darlene doesn’t exactly approve of his participation in the Avengers. He understands why, abstractly, but truthfully she shouldn't be surprised. Sam has spent his whole life trying to do his part, from book drives and volunteering when he was a kid, to fighting for his country. Working with Avengers to protect the world wasn’t something he’d been expecting to do, but it wasn’t an unnatural next step. 

“Yep.” Sam’s telling a half truth. He hates lying to his mom and he immediately feels guilty. He wants to tell her the truth but he doesn’t want to get into the truth about Bucky, when the public doesn’t even know it.

She sighs. “Alright, Sam. Regardless of the situation, I have the same advice for you that I always do. Go after what you want. Put yourself first. It’s ok to think only of yourself sometimes. You’ve been self sacrificing your whole life. Returning your Christmas gift the year your dad died so we could put the money toward that Barbie Dreamhouse your sister wanted.” Darlene’s sniffles a bit through the phone, and Sam smiles, filled with nostalgia. That story always gets his mom emotional. 

“You’ve always been my good boy, Sam. But you can still be my sweet boy and go after whatever makes you happy.”

“What if other people’s happiness makes me happy?” Sam jokes. 

“Then you’re better than this world. I’ve always known it.” Sam can feel his mom smiling into the phone. 

“Thanks mom,” Sam says honestly. “I think that was something I needed to hear.”

They talk absently for a bit longer before Darlene hangs up and leaves Sam alone with his thoughts. 

His mom’s right. Fighting for Bucky and Steve was what he should’ve done. They’re what he wanted - wants. Yes, they hurt them. It still hurts. 

But Sam can imagine a different reality where Steve can kiss Bucky, before turning around to kiss Sam while Bucky holds him from behind. It was a ridiculous fantasy, but an attractive one. 

He laughs before flopping back onto the soft grass. Sam shuts his eyes, and tries to clear his mind of dark thoughts and wishful fantasy. He’s almost there when he hears someone approaching.   
Sam blinks open his eyes and finds himself looking into Bucky’s. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah.” Bucky looks more distraught then Sam has seen him in quite a while. But there’s a fire in his eyes that Sam hopes nothing will burn out. 

He sits, legs crossed gracefully under him, before pulling out a bottle of water and a snack from the baggy gray hoodie he likes to wear on lazier days. 

“Here,” Bucky says simply, but continues when Sam looks at him quizzically. “You haven’t eaten all day, Sam.”

Sam drinks from the bottle gratefully, and eyes the snack in his hand. “You brought me a PopTart.”

Bucky smiles softly. “Yeah, so?”

“They’re your favorite.” 

He laughs. “Sam, you’re my favorite.”

Sam blushes, and Bucky wants to kiss away the bit of color visible in his pretty brown skin. But Bucky remembers how Sam reacted earlier, and sits on his hands to keep them still. 

This is the worst feeling in the world. 

“I love you too Buck,” Sam whispers, eyeing the shiny foil package in his hands. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be with you.” 

“If you don’t want to be,” Bucky says carefully. “I understand. I hurt you and...I know I’m a hard person to love.”

Sam snorts. “Is that what you think? Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Bucky looks down at his hands. “But I hurt you.”

“You did,” Sam says. 

“It’s not ok.”

“No,” Sam sighs. “If you wanted him, you should’ve told me,” he says flatly. Sam wants Bucky more than anything. He wants Steve, too. His ma said go after what he wants. But what if they don’t want him?

“I didn’t know,” Bucky insists. “I told you a long time ago that I loved Steve back in the day. I thought about him a lot when I was on the road. But when I met you, you were all I could see.”

“But you kissed him.”

“I did. But I didn’t realize that I might - I mean that I do have feelings for him until I saw the way he looks at you,” Bucky explains. 

Sam eyes him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Steve loves you, Sam,” Bucky says. “And I don’t want to say too much because I want Steve to be the one to tell you. I know how you feel about Steve. You’re a better man than me for not acting on it.” 

Sam shifts where he sits, finally turning to face Bucky all the way. “How’d you know?”

Bucky smiles. “You get this look on your face when you’re talking about Stevie. I recognized that look on myself in the mirror.” 

“I’m still mad at you,” Sam says. 

Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes. “You should be.”

“But…” Sam begins. 

“But?”

Sam takes one look at Bucky’s hopeful puppy eyes and starts laughing. He cracks up so hard he starts choking, and accepts the offered water bottle from Bucky. “Sorry,” he apologizes before giggling again. “It’s been...a day. I needed that.”

Bucky cracks a smile despite knowing he’s the cause for some of Sam’s pain. He hates it. 

“Buck, I need you,” Sam says plainly. “I know you think you’re the one who needs me and that I’m just...tolerating you. But that’s far from the truth. I don’t want to go back to a life without you.”

“I don’t know if I can live without you,” Bucky shakes his head. “Being alive isn’t living. You taught me that.”   
“I love you. And I’m old enough now not to let mistakes get in the way of that.”

Bucky looks hopeful, and offers a hand for Sam to grab. “You know I love you.”

Sam takes it. 

He squeaks in surprise when Bucky lifts him into the air, tossing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. “What are you doing, Buck?”

“Carrying you,” Bucky answers, beginning the walk toward home. 

“Why?” Sam wiggles in his grasp. 

“You’ve been running all day, and you won’t eat your snack,” Bucky explains. 

Sam wrinkles his nose at the PopTart he’s still grasping. “Not a fan of the sugar.”

Bucky stops. “You ate one yesterday?”

“That was to annoy you,” Sam snorts. 

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief but keeps walking. “Don’t make me drop your ass.” 

*

Bucky finally does put him down, but not until they reach his porch.

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asks quietly just as Sam’s about to open the door. “It’s stupid but...I missed you a lot.”

“Not stupid,” Sam says, before stepping closer to Bucky and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Sam pulls away and opens the door to find Steve standing in front of the stove. He turns around when he hears the door, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees both Bucky and Sam. 

“Hey,” Sam says lightly. “Opening a cupcake shop?” 

The kitchen is an absolute mess. There’s at least three dozen cupcakes on the counter and what looks like a cake in the oven. 

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. “I stress bake.”

Sam plucks a freshly iced cupcake off of the counter, moaning appreciatively at the taste. “Maybe you should stay stressed.”

“What happened to not liking sugar, Sam?” Bucky asks. 

“There’s a huge difference between PopTarts and freshly baked cupcakes, you heathen. Thanks, Steve.” 

Bucky eyes Steve disapprovingly. “He hasn’t eaten all day. Why didn’t you make him some real food?”

“You think too little of me, Buck. The lasagna I made earlier is warming up,” Steve says. 

“Not true,” Bucky replies honestly. “I think the world of you, Steve. You know that.”

Steve looks between Sam and Bucky. “So you guys are...okay?”

Bucky looks to Sam, who hesitates only briefly before nodding. “Yeah,” Bucky answers. “It’s your turn.”

Steve pulls three plates down from the cabinet for when the lasagnas warm, and turns to face Sam. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey, Steve,” Sam says 

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts. “I...we...I really fucked up.” 

Bucky whistles at the same time Sam says “Language, Captain.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but continues. “I messed up because - I’ve loved you for so long, Sam. I think a part of me has loved you since I first spoke to you. There was just something about you - still is - that I can’t get enough of. You were the first person after the ice to understand me, to see past the uniform and actually see me. I fell harder when you took me and Nat in, when I saw you fly for the first time. By the time you agreed to come find Bucky, I knew for sure,” Steve explains. 

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sam asks, reaching across the island to hold Steve’s hand.

Steve’s cheeks flush, but he squeezes Sam’s hand tightly. “It’s...stupid.”

“Not to me,” Sam says. 

Steve doesn't meet Sam’s eyes. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has died or been taken away from me. My mom died. Bucky died. I died before I could be with Peggy. I convinced myself that maybe I wasn’t meant for love? That God decided that love wasn’t my purpose. Maybe I didn’t deserve it.”

Sam’s heart hurts. “What’s different now?” he asks curiously. 

“You,” Steve says simply. “Around you, I want to be selfish.”

“And around Buck?” 

Steve smiles as he eyes Bucky who watches the two of them with a unreadable mix of emotions. “Always.”

“I love you too, Steve. I can’t pinpoint when it happened. Somewhere between finding your body beside the Potomac and the beginning of our road trip. But I do, Steve.” 

Steve looks like he’s just won the lottery. “Really? I...can i kiss you, Sam?”

“Maybe,” Sam decides. “After you feed me dinner. I’m starving.” 

He nods seriously and begins making Sam a big plate of lasagna. Sam can see Bucky smirking out of the corner of his eye, and makes sure to correct that quickly. 

“No kisses for you either,” Sam says mock sternly, hiding his smile. 

Bucky pouts, but goes to the fridge to grab Sam a couple bottles of water and puts them on the coffee table in the living room. Apparently, it’s an eat and watch TV type of night. Sam can’t say he minds. 

He goes and plops down in the middle of the sofa, Steve and Bucky coming over with plates of food. Steve settles in on his left and Bucky on his right. Their bodies keep him hostage, he’s right where he wants to be. Bucky passes him the remote and Sam selects a rerun of The Office, something light to laugh away the remaining stress of the day. 

The foods amazing(it’s one of the foods Steve has mastered) and Sam’s got to have one more cupcake. He laughing at something on the show when he turns to see Steve staring at him, his face completely open. 

Happiness, naked desire. And love so bright that Sam can’t do anything but lean over and kiss the frosting off of his lips. Steve gasps into the kiss like he can’t quite believe it, pulling Sam’s body closer. He nips at Steve’s bottom lip, and shivers when their tongues meet. Steve’s kiss is bruising, pressing into Sam’s body. But once Sam puts a hand on the back of his neck, Steve goes pliant, moaning softly and letting Sam lick into his mouth.

Sam only pulls away when he feels another set of hands on him. Bucky. He turns his head to meet Bucky’s insistent lips. Steve’s hands never leave his hips, and god, can Sam get used to this. He pulls away from Bucky with a laugh, needing to breathe. His detangles himself from them, before settling back in the middle, gearing up for a night of cuddling. 

Steve presses a kiss to his cheek before Bucky does the same. Bucky pulls at Steve’s shirt, and they kiss gently right in front of his eyes. Hot desire sparks through him, but Sam keeps it at bay, dropping his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and tucking his feet under Steve’s thighs. 

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's momma's got some good advice, don't she???
> 
> I have a comment kink.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Bucky, and Steve spend a quiet day in bed together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH. 
> 
> Ok, so it's been A WHILE. So much has happened. I was working on my SBB fic for awhile, called Leather and Tape(go check it out pls). I've started college, started working for my college newspaper. Life has gotten so crazy busy and I'm really happy. But there's no way I'd forget about y'all. 
> 
> enjoy, and PLEASE leave me some feedback i love y'all

When Sam wakes, he is at peace. It is a stark contrast to the day before, his sleep dreamless, the bed extra warm.

Hazily, Sam blinks open his eyes to find Bucky dopily staring at him, his head on Sam’s chest. “Hey,” he greets, leaning up to press a kiss to Sam’s brow.

“Hey yourself,” he replies sleepily.

The activity makes Steve wake too, and he presses a kiss to the spot beside Sam’s ear that always makes him shiver. “Morning.”

Sam snuggles further into Steve’s hold, mumbling a greeting in his ear. Weirdly enough, he’s still sleepy, even though his internal clock tells him it's a bit later than he usually wakes. Yesterday took a lot of him.

“I’m starving,” Steve comments. “Wanna go get breakfast?” He directs his question to Bucky, who nods slowly. They begin getting out of bed, and something like fear shoots through Sam. It’s completely irrational and totally ridiculous. The fear from yesterday - of losing everyone he cares about - still persists, and suddenly Sam’s heart is pounding.

Bucky - of course - notices. “Actually, Steve. I think I’ll stay behind with Sam.”

Steve nods, and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. The way Steve looked at them - there was no jealousy. Worry, perhaps. But there was no jealousy to be found, and Sam’s heart warms. He feels blessed, or something like it, for the first time in a while.

Sam laughs out loud.

He must sound a little unhinged, or something like it, because Bucky nudges him playfully with his arm. “Something funny?”

He shakes his head, but speaks soon after. “No, I - I’m just being stupid.”

“Probably,” Bucky comments, making Sam laugh. “But you should tell me so I can be sure.”  

Sam sighs. Bucky has this way of getting all of his secrets out that’s unlike that of any of his past significant others. He doesn’t goad or poke or prod. He just...knows when something's off. Bucky lets Sam talk if he wants, kisses his forehead in acceptance if he doesn’t.

Today, Sam speaks hesitantly. “When you and Steve got up to get out of bed… it brought back some lingering feelings from yesterday. I kept thinking about how I lost Riley, and that turned into losing everything I love,” Sam swallows. “And part of that everything is you two.”

Bucky looks at him with so much love in his eyes. If Sam was a lesser man, he’d have to look away. “Oh baby,” Bucky breathes. “I ain’t going anywhere, I swear it. I know Steve feels the same.”

“I know. That’s why I feel like an idiot,” Sam tries for a laugh.

“You can feel whatever you want to feel,” Bucky points out. “It’s your brain. Someone smart told me that. Hot guy, maybe you know him?”

Sam elbows Bucky in the stomach.

“Ow,” Bucky complains, even though they both know that he barely felt it. “You still sleepy?”

“I’m tired,” Sam answers honestly. “Emotionally...I’m still drained.”

Bucky nods. “Want me to hold you tight? We can probably sleep for an hour, and I’ll wake you up for breakfast."

“Please.”

Bucky pulls Sam against his chest, letting him become the little spoon. His arms go around Sam’s waist, holding his middle tight enough to ground him. Instantly, Sam begins to relax.

He’s on the cusp of sleep when Steve finally steps out of the shower, and Sam cracks open an eye to stare shamelessly at Steve’s glistening form, covered only in a low slung towel. He loses a bit of time after that, but when Sam’s eyes open again, Steve’s fully dressed to Sam’s dismay, and is leaning over the bed to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s hair.

Steve’s fond gaze is the last thing he sees before Sam drifts off once again.

*

The smell of fresh coffee is what finally awakens Sam. He can tell not much time has passed, but he feels significantly better.

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky swears. “Are you feeding an army?”

Sam blinks his eyes open further to see Steve sheepishly placing two large paper bags of food atop the dresser, a coffee cup holder balanced precariously in his other hand.

“I was hungry,” he blushes. “Besides, Sam barely ate anything yesterday.”

“I had dinner,” Sam points out, sitting up against the headboard. “And dessert, if I recall.”

Bucky grins, already picking up on the teasing edge to Sam’s voice. “Excuses, excuses,” he sing songs.

Steve rolls his eyes, and gestures for Bucky to help him out, who obliges. Sam goes to get up as well, but Steve and Bucky shake their heads furiously.

“We got it babe,” Bucky says.

“I’ll make your plate, Sam,” Steve says. 

This time, Sam is the one to roll his eyes, but he listens and sits back, letting his boys handle the food.

Bucky passes him a cup of coffee, and Steve hands him a plate stacked high with eggs, bacon and thick pieces of rye bread.

They get their own food, Steve sitting delicately beside Sam, indian style. Bucky on the other hand, flops down on the his stomach on the foot of the bed, resting his head on Steve’s knee before glancing at the food on his plate and abandoning Steve in favor of it.

“This is delicious,” Sam mutters.

Steve nods. “It’s this little diner not far from here. I - I’d go there when I was moping over you,” he laughs.

Pulling Steve toward him, Sam kisses him on the cheek. “You won’t have to do that anymore. You can gush over me all you like.”

“Asshole,” Bucky mouths to Steve, though Sam notices. He sticks his tongue out at him playfully.

Steve watches them with a stupid smile on his face, and they finish breakfast mostly in comfortable silence.

After a while, Bucky gets up to put their plates in the kitchen, before returning to bed.

“Is this a lazy day, then?” Sam asks.

Steve shrugs “Whatever you want. You deserve one, but if you want to do something else, we can.”

Sam turns to face him, a slow, happy smile on his face. He can feel it. He feels lighter than he has in while, feels like there’s no way to contain his happiness. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in some time. “Alright,” he answers.

“You’ve got some syrup on your mouth,” Steve notices then, his mouth turning up in a smile. Sam rubs at his face, but doesn’t quite get it. “No, here.”

Originally, Steve plans to wipe at Sam’s lip with his finger. But something - maybe it’s the light in his eyes, or the way the sun shines down on his skin, like it too knows that Sam’s one of the angels - but Steve instead kisses the syrup off with his lips.  

Sam gasps in surprise, and Steve almost goes to pull back. Sam’s arms capture him in their hold before he can, and Steve grins against Sam’s lips, sighing blissfully as Sam ghosts a hand down his neck before resting on the right side of his chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” Sam jokes when he finally pulls away to take a breath. 

Steve hides his face in Sam’s shirt, before leaning up to kiss his neck. “You gonna stop me?”

“Hell no,” Sam laughs.

“I just...I’m just happy,” Steve explains, even though Sam didn’t need one.

“Me too,” he replies, leaning up to kiss Steve again.

“Me three,” Bucky says from his spot in the hall.

They break from the kiss to see Bucky standing in the doorway, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Get over here, Buck,” Steve laughs.

“You gonna make it worth my while, sugar?” he asks, taking his place on the bed, slightly behind Steve, who’s face flushes.

“Yeah,” he replies, looking everywhere but at Steve’s face.

“You shy baby?” Bucky questions, and Sam is glad the attention isn’t directed at him in this moment. “Didn’t seem like it when you were kissin’ all over Sam just now.”

Steve simply moans as Bucky slides a proprietary hand up his shirt, grabbing at his chest.

“Holy shit,” Sam says.

“See something you like, baby?” Bucky asks Sam, reaching out to press a kiss to his lips.

Sam accepts it, before breaking the kiss to ask a question. “Why are you such a tease today?”

Bucky shrugs. “Why not?”

“It’s not very nice,” Sam points out, Steve nodding his head in agreement. Sam looks pointedly in Steve’s direction, so he sees exactly what he’s doing, before Sam slides hand in Bucky’s hair, and _pulls_.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasps, tensing before relaxing in Sam’s grip. “Kiss me.” 

There’s no chance in hell Sam could say no to that, and he presses his lips to Bucky’s, who moans into his mouth. “You done?” Sam asks against Bucky’s lips.

“For now,” he gasps.

That’s good enough for Sam, and he looks toward Steve, who looks well and truly gone, just from watching the two of them.

“You good Steve?” Bucky asks. 

“I listened to you two have sex,” Steve blurts. “That first night.” 

Steve watches for Sam’s reaction first. His face seems to warm, either from arousal or embarrassment, and Steve goes to apologize, but then he notices the smirk on Bucky’s face. 

He narrows his eyes. “Buck. You knew, didn’t you.”

Sam shoves Bucky back onto the bed, who goes with an audible “oof” like the blow was a push to him and his ego. 

“You let your best friend - _our_ best friend listen to us have sex. And you didn’t tell me,” Sam narrows his eyes and puts a leg over each side of Bucky’s body 

Hands held up in surrender, Bucky answers. “I didn’t know he was gonna do it.” He glares at Steve. “Little punk would always listen in when I brought a dame home. Surprised the hell outta me when I heard someone else moaning the other night.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t encourage it, asshole. No coincidence that I was _always_ home when you had a girl over. And it’s not like I could _not_ get off, you two were loud as hell,” Steve protests.

“Oh,” Bucky says, voice lowered. “So you _did_ touch yourself. To the two of us? That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He turns to Sam. “Don’t you like that baby? Stevie got off to us.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, body suddenly that much warmer. “I do.”

“Come here, Stevie,” Bucky orders playfully, but Steve joins them without hesitation, to Bucky’s interest.

Steve joins them, and they come together in the quiet of Sam’s house.

“I love you two idiots,” Sam laughs. Everyone smiles.

*

As per Sam’s request, they waste away the day together. Most of it, to Sam’s chagrin and pleasure, is spent in bed, after discussing their boundaries. Now, Sam is just as tired as before.

“What happened to spending the day in bed and actually resting?” Sam wonders aloud, his naked body tucked in between Steve and Bucky. Steve’s nuzzling his head into Sam’s shoulder, his overheated body keeping him toasty. Bucky’s struggling to do his koala bear thing, now that the bed contains an extra person.

“I didn’t hear any complaints out of you. Did you hear anything, Steve?” Bucky asks.

Steve laughs, already catching on to Bucky’s game. “Not a peep. Somebody was asking for more, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I think that was you,” Sam shoots back. Bucky snickers, Steve glares.

“What? He’s not wrong,” Bucky says.

Eventually, they make it out of bed and into some pants. They order takeout Chinese, because everyone's too hungry and loose limbed to bother cooking.

Netflix is queued up, an argument over Star Trek begins. Sam’s seen it all, so he doesn’t care. But Steve stopped watching when he left Sam’s company for New York, so Bucky is further along in the series than him.  

Sam simply finishes up his takeout with a stupid smile on his face, and curls up between them on the sofa. It’s his favorite place to be. He puts his feet in Bucky’s lap and his head on Steve’s thigh, and by the time the two come to a consensus, Sam is already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a comment kink

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Follow me on Tumblr at zoe-tropee or heckyeahwinterpanther if you're a fan ;)


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